


After Pleasant Green

by Asil15



Category: Mythos (Radio), The Lovecraft Investigations, The Shadow Over Innsmouth (BBC Radio), The Whisperer in Darkness (Radio)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 27,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asil15/pseuds/Asil15
Summary: Following the events of the Shadow Over Innsmouth (and the bonus episodes), the Department of Works tries to move on and Kennedy tries to go back.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I can't stop thinking about the ending of the Shadow Over Innsmouth (and the bonus episode revelation). Desperately hoping that Julian Simpson will give us more.

After Kennedy finished stumbling through a broken explanation, they just stood there, rooted to the spot for a while. Standing in the middle of nowhere, on the outskirts of a village that doesn’t exist.

“What do we do?” asked Eleanor finally.

Kennedy just shook her head numbly.

“Back to the house?” Eleanor asked.

Kennedy shrugged, but turned in the direction they had come from. They walked slowly together, unspeaking. There was nothing to say. When they arrived at the house there was no trace of Parker. The small bag she had brought with her was gone. They went inside and sat down in silence.

Finally, Kennedy looked up, “I have to get back to London.”

Eleanor just nodded.

“I have to finish the podcast.”

“Really?”

Kennedy nodded, a vague memory of the final episode of the Charles Dexter Ward podcast drifting through her mind. Matt, telling the audience how he had set himself the task of editing together the final episode after her disappearance. A final record of what had happened, for her. Now it was time for her to do the same for him.

“I have to,” she said softly, “He would want me to. I have to finish his story.”

“Right,” Eleanor’s voice was tight, bitter.

“I’m sorry we dragged you into this,” Kennedy told her.

“I sent you looking for Henry Akely,” Eleanor said, biting back emotion, “Maybe we all dragged each other into this.”

Kennedy nodded slowly and got to her feet, “I’m heading back to London now,” she said, “Do you want to come with me?”

Eleanor shook her head, “No, thank you.”

“Okay, well I’ll – I’ll be in touch.”

Eleanor just nodded without looking at her.

“Bye,” Kennedy breathed, holding back tears.

“Bye,” murmured Eleanor, still without looking at her.

Kennedy walked out, got into her car and drove back to London. She went straight to the studio, walked in, looked around and began to sob. Matt was everywhere – his stupid mug printed with the words “ _it’s always stranger than you think”_ , his scrawled notes, bits of tech she knew nothing about. She sank down on the floor and wept for what felt like hours.

By the time she stopped crying and began to compose herself it was the morning and sunlight was streaming in through the window. She grabbed a piece of paper and Matt’s pen and began to scribble thoughts for the outline of the final episode. She reached into her bag and pulled out the broken recorder that had been the only thing left after Matt’s disappearance. She tried a few things to access the audio stored on it without success. She hurled it across the room in frustration and sat down on the floor again.

That was Matt’s thing, all the technical audio stuff – he got excited about it. He would have found a way to recover the audio on the recorder. His thing was doing audio and research from the nice warm studio and her thing was reportage, out there, on the spot. She’d let him go with Eleanor and Parker in her place. She knew it should have been her, or both of them together. But for the first time in her life she’d hesitated, held back, and let him go alone. And now he was gone – Matt was gone and all she had left of him was audio she couldn’t even access.

Biting her lip, Kennedy reached for her phone and dialled a number.

“K,” said Slide’s voice, “How’s it going? Did the mysterious village show?”

“I need your help to recover some audio,” Kennedy said numbly.

“You alright?” Slide’s voice sounded concerned.

“No. Can you help me?”

“What’s happened, K?”

“Matt’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Pleasant Green.”

“Woh – so it showed up?”

“And then went again,” Kennedy replied, her voice cracking slightly, “And took Matt with it.”

“Took him where?”

“I don’t fucking know, do I! Can you help with the audio or not?”

“Yeah, sure – I can try. K …”

She knew he didn’t know what to say. What could anyone say?

“I’ll bring it over, is now okay?” she asked abruptly.

“Sure – look I…”

Kennedy hung up the phone, and reached to pick up the recorder. Clutching the device in her hand she laid on her back, stared at the ceiling and tried to find the energy, or the will, to get up and go to Slide’s place.


	2. Chapter 2

Eleanor was still sitting in the house in East Anglia, her head in her hand, when the door opened again. She glanced up at the person entering the room and then returned her gaze to the floor.

“Parker,” her tone was bitter.

“Hello.” Parker hesitated slightly, “I remember promising you a long lunch.”

“Where were you?”

“Pleasant Green gone, world still here – job’s done.”

“Matt’s not still here,” said Eleanor coldly.

“What?”

“Matt’s gone.” Eleanor looked up, raising her voice slightly, “I think he saved … the world, by pushing Daisy Marsh in Kennedy’s place and it took him, Pleasant Green took him.”

“Oh,” said Parker, still sounding unconcerned.

“And you just left.”

“It’s not our job to save random podcasters,” replied Parker, perching on the arm of a chair, “Even if we could have – which we couldn’t. You should know that better than anyone.”

“Me – why? Because of my research? Because this is all quite far from academia now.”

“No,” said Parker mock patiently, “Because this isn’t the first podcaster you’ve lost.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hicks,” said Parker, as though it was obvious. “That was his name right - Jonathan Hicks? Former podcaster, chasing time travelling witches in Essex? The Murrell house, the book? Mobile phones lost in time?”

“What…” Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t…”

“You’re not Eleanor Peck, Mary.”

“Stop it, what are you – my name is **_not_** Mary, it’s Eleanor, Eleanor.”

Parker sighed, “Where did you grow up?”

“London.”

“Okay, who was your best friend? Can you describe them? Who was your favourite school teacher? What TV did you watch as a child? What books did you read? What did you do for your eighth birthday?”

“I – I …”

“You’re not Eleanor Peck, you’re Mary Lairre, and I’m going to show you.” Parker stood up and held out her hand. “Give me your watch.”

“What? Why?”

“Just give it to me, M – Eleanor.”

Eleanor hesitated and then handed it over, “This is mad.”

“Isn’t it?” agreed Parker, taking the watch and beginning to mutter under her breath.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

“Johnson has given me control to drop the wards.”

“What are you talking about – who's Johnson? What wards?”

Parker sighed, and for the first time her voice was gentler, “I’m sorry about this, Mary. But it’s time to come back, you can’t be Eleanor forever.”

Eleanor watched as Parker reached an arm out towards her. She lent back in the chair as Parker’s arm came closer, and then went right through her chest.

“How – how are you doing that?”

“You’re a ghost, Mary,” Parker said gently, “Rendered corporeal through some complicated wards that I’ve just dropped. Frankly, I don’t really understand how you aren’t falling through that chair.”

Eleanor stared down at herself, “Balance of forces," she said emotionlessly, "Gravity has far less effect on ghosts because of limited mass, so the molecular structure of floor or furniture is enough to keep them in place, unless they really focus on passing through it…wait – how… do I know that?”

“Hello, Mary.”

“I – I can’t be a ghost…”

“Look, remember this?” asked Parker, holding a picture of a building in front of her.

“What’s that?”

“Borley Rectory. You died there, Mary. The Waldegraves killed you - they bricked you up in the wall and left you to die.”

She stared at the picture and took a deep, shaky breath.

“Mary?”

“I remember.”

“Great, so you’re back now?” Parke sounded relieved.

Mary stood up. “I need some air.”

“Alright, but we’re supposed to be having lunch, so…”

Mary Lairre walked straight through Parker, and the wall behind her.

“Balls,” sighed Parker, sitting down to wait for her return, “Late lunch I suppose.”


	3. Chapter 3

After completing the final episode of the podcast, Kennedy turned all of her time and attention to finding Matt. Eleanor Peck still hadn’t answered any of her calls, so she was having to try to the research herself, which was slow and time-consuming.  
She also couldn’t contact Parker, ‘Albert Wilmarth’ or anyone from the Department of Works. For the first three days she broke up her research by regularly calling the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and screaming "Pleasant Green", but to no avail. Eventually they started hanging up on her before she had even managed more than "Pleas-".  
After that Kennedy began to vary her calls and target different government departments every week, until they too stopped letting her get the words out. She had done the Cabinet Office, the Home Office, Ministry of Justice, Ministry of Defence, Department for International Trade and the Treasury.  
This week, she had been tackling the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, whilst also starting a course at Birkbeck. She had figured that if she couldn’t get Eleanor Peck to answer her phone calls, maybe the best, or possibly only option, was to start turning up to her classes and asking her questions there.

However, when she signed in to attend her first online lecture, Kennedy was disappointed. They were being taught by a Professor Graham Brown, who apologetically explained that Professor Eleanor Peck had had to take time away for personal reasons. She stayed with the course anyway, hoping she would learn something to help with her research, but it was all quite slow and largely unhelpful. Unlike Eleanor Peck, Professor Brown’s primary interest was the imagery of folklore, rather than the stories. Kennedy could see that his lectures on how images changed and developed through time could be really fascinating if she had joined the course to learn about an interesting subject. But she hadn’t. She had joined the course to find Matt, and it seemed Professor Brown would be of no use in that endeavour at all.

Frustrated at the end of the session, Kennedy glanced at her phone. She had five voicemails. She listened to them quickly and deleted them all – concerned friends, kind people who were of no use to her now. She only wanted to hear from people who could help find Matt. 

She was sitting at a small desk in her flat, surrounded by piles of computer and audio equipment, books, research materials. She had had to give up the studio when she ended the podcast, but she had kept all of Matt’s work stuff and brought it home with her. It would all be waiting for him if he came back When – when he came back. 

She abandoned her desk and headed for the sofa with a bottle of wine. She poured herself a glass and listened to some of the earlier episodes of the Charles Dexter Ward podcast. Matt was teasing her about the man who had called himself George Sheppley. He had made her laugh. They had been happy then, cheerfully and blissfully ignorant. 

She poured another glass and then listened to the conversation she had had with Matt towards the end of Whisperer in Darkness. Matt had edited into the start of the Shadow over Innsmouth, but she’d decided she would share the full conversation as a bonus episode after Matt disappeared. If asked, she would struggle to explain why. She supposed she just wanted to know that everyone would hear him as he was, as they were, bickering fondly, looking optimistically towards the future. Somehow, she was going to get him back and make sure he got that future.

She emptied the last of the bottle into her glass and downed it quickly. She’d make some more calls in the morning. Maybe make a start on the Department for Culture, Media and Sport...


	4. Chapter 4

"So, are you sticking with this mysterious spy personality, then?" asked Mary as they headed up the driveway to the Department headquarters to file their reports. Mary had just finished her first assignment back at work with Parker, having been directed to take some time off after the 'Eleanor Peck' episode to ensure she regained her personality. She had tried to point out that as a 400-year old ghost with little else occupying her time, her personality was largely entwined with her work at the Department, but this point had gone unacknowledged.

"I think so," Parker said thoughtfully, "At least for now. I quite like the whole detached, mysterious thing."

Mary nodded, "Yeah, it sort of suits you. Although, do you really need the sunglasses at night?"

"Absolutely, vital totem of this personality."

"Fair enough."

Mary opened the door and they stepped into the building. “Alright, Geoff?” said Mary cheerfully.

Geoff nodded to them both, “ Wards are down for you."

"Thanks, Geoff."

Oh,” he added, looking at Parker, “That mad woman’s at it with Pleasant Green again.”

Parker sighed, “Right – just stand everyone down and leave the paperwork on my desk.”

“Will do,” Geoff replied.

“What mad woman and Pleasant Green?” asked Mary as they headed up the main staircase.

“Kennedy Fisher,” said Parker, “She keeps calling random government departments and screaming ‘Pleasant Green’ at them.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s because when they had her in Rendlesham, Matthew Heawood did it and I turned up. Now she seems to think it’s like some kind of magic way to summon us.”

“Like a summoning ritual for the Department.”

“Basically,” sighed Parker, “I think she’s really lost it since Heawood disappeared, which is a shame because she was at least quite fun before, even if really, really slow.”

“That’s normal people for you.”

“I know, right – so slow. Although it probably didn’t help that they had you telling them it was all bollocks.”

“That was the assignment. Keep the prospective human sacrifice away from the world-ending lunatics.”

“Yeah, I mean, up to a point, but it didn’t work very well did it? And then by the time we’d decided we were going to have to start using them, you’d got lost in your bloody cover story.”

“Well maybe next time I have to use a cover identity you should trust my skill and not try to bolster it with your spells. You know mixing your magic with my wards can be problematic.”

“I was just trying to help,” said Parker in that almost childlike tone she occasionally used.

“Yeah, maybe a bit too helpful.”

“How are you, anyway? All back now, no lingering traces of Eleanor?”

“I think I’m sorted, more or less anyway," Mary paused. "I do still kind of miss being her sometimes.”

“Of course you do, she was perfect for you – showing off all your knowledge in lectures to impressionable students, monologues to the rapt audience of Matthew Heawood letting you drone on and on. Don’t think I’m letting you do that with me.”

Mary rolled her eyes, “Well if you listened to me more often we might have fewer difficulties.”

Parker snorted.

“Really, I just enjoyed living a life," Mary said. "I never had much of a life the first time around – I just got passed around without any say in the matter, and then bricked up in a wall to have a slow, lingering death.”

“You have a life now."

“Yeah, sort off, except… well, I’m a ghost, aren’t I? The wards do their thing but underneath I know I’m still a ghost, and that has… limitations.”

“Meaning, what? You couldn’t flirt with Matt Heawood as a ghost?”

“I don’t flirt. In any form.”

“Course not."


	5. Chapter 5

After a disappointing day, buried in more books and articles on folklore and magic than she ever imagined she would read, Kennedy signed on for her next video lecture. She was considering giving up the course – Eleanor wasn’t there, she wasn’t learning anything useful, and so it was just taking her time from Matt.

“Today we’re going to look at the work of a particular artist, with a special place in folklore, Richard Upton Pickman.” Professor Brown said, sharing his screen in order to display a variety of images. The paintings showed creatures, like ferocious dogs but frequently on two legs, sometimes devouring victims.

“There have been many different analyses of these images,” continued Professor Brown, “And many different folklore traditions have claimed different interpretations of them. Are they, for example, werewolves? Some would claim so. Pickman himself never gave any explanation of the images he created, beyond their titles. We are going to take some time analysing Pickman’s work, in the context of stories told at the time and the visual representations that preceded them.”

After a lengthy lecture, which would have been interesting if Kennedy was in any other mindset, Professor Brown directed them to a link to download the course materials on Pickman. Kennedy clicked on the link and skimmed quickly through the pages on her computer whilst Professor Brown explained the assignment to be completed.

Skimming through a list of Pickman titles Kennedy froze. One of Pickman’s pictures was entitled _Azathoth’s Hound._ Kennedy moved back and forth through the pages on her computer screen, but saw no image of it. Back on the video call, students were leaving, with Professor Brown staying online for anyone who wanted to ask further questions or discuss the course.

Kennedy turned on her microphone. She hesitated for a second, and then set an audio recorder running on her computer before speaking. “Professor Brown?”

“Graham, please,” smiled the Professor, “It’s Kennedy isn’t it? How can I help?”

“The pictures listed in the materials – there aren’t images of them all included here?”

“No, no, there aren’t freely available copies of all of Pickman’s works.”

“What about the one called _Azathoth’s Hound_ – is there a copy of that available anywhere?”

“No, I’m afraid not. That’s an interesting choice actually, it is a very rare image if it exists at all. Never shown anywhere. For a long time it was believed destroyed by the collector who held it, but some say it does still exist, held in private hands.”

“Do we know whose hands?”

“Currently, no. The story is that it was originally given to a man named Edward Thurber, who was supposed to have destroyed it because he was so horrified by its image, but, as I say, some people believe it was not destroyed and still exists somewhere. I’m afraid that’s all I know about that particular picture – but there are lots of other very fascinating images reproduced in the materials.”

“Yes,” agreed Kennedy, “Of course, very interesting. Thank you.”

She logged out of the video call and sat, staring at the window that was recording audio for a couple of minutes. Then she took a deep breath, and began to talk.

“Hi Matt,” she said. “The conversation you just heard was me and a guy called Professor Graham Brown. I’m taking his course in folklore at Birkbeck. I originally signed up hoping it would be a way to get back in touch with Eleanor Peck, but she has stepped down from teaching there for now. She seems to have basically disappeared since… well – since you disappeared.

I’m not recording this for the podcast, because there isn’t one anymore, not without you. I ended it. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I said I was leaving before, and I’m sorry I left you to go off looking for Pleasant Green…” her voice cracked. “I’m just really sorry, Matt, for everything. But I am going to find you. And I’m recording this for you – so that you can listen to it when I find you instead of making me tell you everything, which I know you will.” She paused, took a breath, and slipped into voiceover Kennedy.

“So, Professor Brown has been teaching us about this guy called Richard Upton Pickman, who painted all these creepy pictures that are apparently very significant in the history of folklore imagery. Pickman did most of his work in the 20s and 30s, and died in the Blitz in 1940. One of the pictures is called _Azathoth’s Hound_ , and that’s the one I just asked the Professor about, because anything referencing Azathoth is getting my attention right now. So, if the Professor is right, nobody knows what this picture looks like, apart from possibly this Edward Thurber guy. So – let’s see what we can find on him.”

Kennedy opened a browser and typed in the search bar.

“Okay, so a basic search brings up a few Edward Thurbers, some who would have been alive at the right time to meet Pickman – but nobody is jumping out at me, as an art collector or whatever, so I may have to just work through them one by one. Searching for both Thurber and Pickman together brings up a couple of articles, and clicking through… Okay, this one has a footnote referencing the supposed burning of the picture by Thurber, but no other details. The author is an academic at the University of Amsterdam – Clara Aaldenberg, so probably worth trying to speak to her, as well as following up on the list of Edward Thurbers…”

Kennedy’s phone rang, she glanced at it to see who was calling before answering.

“Slide?”

“K – you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kennedy scoffed, “Since when do you ask me that?”

“Since you became a crazy recluse after Matt disappeared,” Slide told her, “People are worried about you, K. Including two people who have my number…”

“Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“K…”

“I’m fine, and I’m not a crazy recluse – we’re in lockdown, and I’m working.”

“We were in lockdown. Stuff’s open again now, K. And working on what? You don’t have a job anymore, remember?”

“Research.”

Slide paused for a second, “Can I help?”

“Maybe, actually – do you have some time to kill?”

“Sure.”

“It’s just dull background research.”

“But if I do it, it’ll be fast dull background research.”

Kennedy smiled a little. “Sure it will.”

“So – what is it?”

“I need to find out everything I can about a guy called Edward Thurber, who was probably alive in the 20s or 30s and supposedly burned a picture given to him by an artist called Richard Upton Pickman.”

“Riight,” drawled Slide, “You know anything else about him?”

“Nope, and I’ve already found there were a few Edward Thurbers around at the time. Could you just have a dig into them all, see if you can identify the one who supposedly destroyed the picture or, if not, just see if any of them sound weird?”

“Weird, how?”

“You know, weird how my life is now – that weird.”

“Gotcha. So… is this about Matt?”

“Of course it’s about Matt.”

“You wanna… you know – talk?”

“To you?” there was a note of disbelief in Kennedy’s voice.

“Well, maybe not me, but someone?”

“Yes, I want to talk to someone,” Kennedy told him forcefully, “I want to talk to Matt.”

“Yeah,” Slide was uncomfortable now, “Course. I’ll get on those Edward Thurbers.”

“Yeah, I – sorry. And thanks, Slide, really.”

“Anytime.”

Kennedy hung up the call and leaned towards the computer again. “So, yeah, as you probably heard – I’ve been a bit... I’m not really doing so well with the you being gone thing, Matt. I so, so need to talk to you,” she bit her lip, “Fucks sake, where are you?”

She stopped the recording, saved the audio file and shut down the computer. She plugged headphones into her phone, popped them in her ears and scrolled through to select an episode from their podcast while she grabbed the open wine bottle. She just needed to hear his voice.

The next morning Kennedy made some coffee, ignored her hangover, and headed for her computer. After switching it on, she opened up an audio recorder again.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s the morning after I heard about Pickman from Professor Brown. Slide is taking a look into Edward Thurbers, and I want to try and talk to this Clara Aldenburg, who wrote the article referencing Pickman and Thurber. I was going to try to get a number for her, but the lockdown has eased a bit now so it’s possible to travel, and I feel like… I really want to look her in the face when I speak to her, right in the eyes. Because I am so done with trusting people, Matt. It doesn’t seem to matter what side of this they’re on, they all lie to me, to us. I’m not even sure Eleanor Peck was who she claimed to be. I think you’re the only person I really still trust… you were always on my side, Matt – you and me against the world, huh?” She took a breath, “So, lets look at the best way to get to Amsterdam.”

* * *

Three days later Kennedy sat in a small room and fired up her computer again. “Hey Matt, it’s me, of course. So, I’m in Amsterdam. I’m staying in this little rental apartment that was super cheap because covid is keeping tourism down. It is also much cheaper to drink here, than in a hotel, so that’s a bonus. I went to the University today, but Dr Aldenburg is working from home because of covid. I did manage to get hold of an email address for her though, and I’ve sent her a vague email, saying that I’m in town, and trying to invite myself round to talk about her work on Pickman. She might not go for it. Of course, everything is on video call now, but fingers-crossed.

I shouted ‘Pleasant Green’ at some poor woman working for the DWP today, but nothing seems to have resulted from that. It’s been weeks now. Either ‘Pleasant Green’ isn’t an echelon trigger anymore or they’ve all just decided to ignore me. Well, I’m many things Matt, but I like to think I am not easy to ignore. I will make them respond and I will make them help us. I promise you, Matt. You’re coming back home.”

With a sigh she took a sip of her drink and began to flick through the various documents and notes she had made on her computer. Suddenly there was a ping, indicating a new email.

“Email from Dr Aldenburg,” she said, opening it, “Look at that – she’s up for a meeting. I’d be welcome to visit her tomorrow at 11. Yes. We’re getting somewhere, Matt. I can feel it.”


	6. Chapter 6

The following day Kennedy went to see Clara Aldenburg. Aldenburg lived in a comfortable, spacious house a short walk from the apartment Kennedy was staying in. Her walls were decorated with art works that wouldn’t have been out of place on Professor Brown’s course, and the large room that she led Kennedy to was lined with books.

“This is probably the best place to be,” smiled Clara Aldenburg, “Room for social distancing.”

Kennedy smiled, accepted a seat, declined a drink, and produced her audio recorder. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

“So, how can I help you? You mentioned in your email that you are interested in my work on Pickman?”

“Yes,” said Kennedy, “And in relation to one picture in particular – _Azathoth’s Hound_.”

“Ah, I see.”

“In one of your articles you referenced the fact that it was supposedly burned by Edward Thurber, but the way you wrote it made me think that you weren’t sure that was the case? Do you think the picture still exists? And do you know what it was a painting of.”

“Well,” mused Clara, “All very interesting questions. Do you know the history of the picture?”

“Nothing beyond the fact that Pickman pained it and gave it to Thurber who supposedly burned it.”

“Okay, well, there are the facts and then there are the legends – you know how folklore works.”

“Yes,” said Kennedy wearily, “I do. Can you give me both?”

“Very well. Let’s begin with the facts. Richard Upton Pickman was a noted artist in the 1920s and 1930s. He lived in London, but few of his paintings were ever displayed in the London galleries, generally because of their subject matter.”

“Right,” said Kennedy, “He painted these ferocious beasts and half-human creatures and people didn’t really go for that.”

“Yes, and it was the way he painted them. Have you seen any of his work?”

“Some.”

Clara shuffled some papers and handed a few to Kennedy, “These for example, the way he painted the features – the anguish in the faces.”

Kennedy stared at the pictures. They were pretty horrifying, definitely not the sort of thing most people would want to have hanging on their walls.

“Edward Thurber was one of the few people who looked at Pickman’s pictures with interest and respected Pickman as an artist. At times, he advocated for him and tried to help him to get opportunities to display his work. Then, in 1927, Thurber had the picture, _Azathoth’s Hound_. It’s unclear how he came to have it in his possession, it was sometimes claimed as a gift, but Pickman said later, before his death, that Thurber had stolen it from him. However Thurber came to be in possession of the picture, he later said that it was so terrible that he had burnt it, and after that time he never had contact with Pickman again – in fact he went out of his way to avoid him and to oppose any invitations for Pickman to exhibit his work.”

“Did he ever say what the picture showed?”

“Never. Thurber would only ever say that it was truly horrifying. And Pickman never made any statement about what it depicted at all.” 

“Okay… You said there were stories about it.”

“So there are stories about what it depicted – although there are only records of two people ever seeing it, and as I say, neither of them described it. The most commonly repeated legend is that it showed some kind of ‘hell hound’ emerging from a gateway to hell itself, which based on the title is plausible. The other, less commonly known story, is that it wasn’t a painting at all.”

“So, what was it then?”

Clara smiled, “A photograph.”

“A photograph?”

“Yes – the way this story goes, Thurber had no concerns with Pickman painting these horrific images, but what really disturbed him was discovering that Pickman didn’t create them from his imagination, but from things he had really seen, and photographed.”

Kennedy glanced down at the Pickman pictures she was still holding in her hands. “So that story would say that these, are real?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I’d put much faith in that tale,” smiled Clara.

“Hmm,” said Kennedy, “I don’t know. I’ve been down this road before.”

“What do you mean?”

Kennedy shook her head and tried to conjure up her most charming smile, “Oh, nothing, doesn’t matter. I heard there is also a rumour that Thurber didn’t actually destroy the picture, and it still exists. Is that right?”

“Oh, yes,” Clara nodded, “That is another rumour that circulates in the folklore world. I did actually once meet a man who claimed that he had possession of the original picture. I corresponded with him for a while, and asked to see it, but sadly he passed away.”

“Do you remember his name?” asked Kennedy.

“Yes – his name was Kemp, Theodore Kemp. He lived here, in Amsterdam, until his death a few years ago.”

“What did he die of?” asked Kennedy.

“Goodness, I… old age I think. He was in his late 80s when I knew him, and quite frail and confused.”

“Did he say how he came to have the picture?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Did he say what it showed?”

“I’m afraid he didn’t divulge that either – he only said that it had to be seen to be believed.”

“Do you know who would have had it after his death – did he have family to inherit?”

“He had a son,” said Clara thoughtfully, “Quite an unusual name, give me a minute.” She went to a desk in the corner and rifled through an address book, “Here we are – Aldridge, Aldridge Kemp. I corresponded with him briefly after his father’s death, asking about the picture, but he was unwilling to let anyone see it.”

“Do you have his contact details?”

Clara hesitated, “I’m not sure I should…”

“Please,” Kennedy asked, “I just want to see if he might be willing to reconsider sharing the picture now some time has passed since his father’s death.”

Clara looked thoughtful for a moment, then relented and handed Kennedy the address book to take a copy of the details. “If he has changed his mind,” she said, “Would you please let me know? I’ve studied Pickman for years, and I would really like the chance to see that picture.”

“Of course,” Kennedy told her, photographing the phone number and address with her phone. She handed the address book back to Clara.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Clara asked.

“One last question,” Kennedy paused, “Did Theodore Kemp say whether it was a painting or a photograph?”

Clara hesitated, took a breath, “He said it was a photograph.” She said finally, “But like I said, he was elderly and quite confused at the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've borrowed Richard Upton Pickman and Thurber from the HP Lovecraft short story Pickman's Model and the story related by Clara in this chapter is loosely based on that. The Kemps and the location are inspired by Kennedy's intro to the first bonus episode from Shadow Over Innsmouth.


	7. Chapter 7

Back in her rental apartment Kennedy tried the number for Aldridge Kemp and was disappointed. The phone was answered by a woman who explained that she had bought the house from Aldridge some years previously and had no forwarding address. Frustrated with her lead for the moment, Kennedy called Slide.

“Alright, K?” he answered.

“Got anything for me, Slide?”

“Well… one of the Edward Thurbers might be the guy you’re looking for.”

“Go on.”

“Okay, Edward Thurber, born 1885. He had a younger brother called Thomas, born in 1888 who was killed in the First World War. Edward was a journalist, but also a bit of an art critic, wrote lots of stuff about exhibitions happening in London, including a long-forgotten article that I managed to dig out, which talked about a Pickman exhibition in 1925…”

“That sounds promising.”

“Exactly my thinking. And, you wanted weird...”

“And?”

“Thurber killed himself in 1941.”

“Well it’s something, I’m not sure it’s weird though.”

“Yeah, but, he didn’t just kill himself.”

“Who else did he kill?”

“His nephew, Elliott Thurber, who he’d basically been like a father to since Elliot was a kid and his dad was killed in the war. Then, suddenly, in 1941, Thurber shoots Elliot, shoots himself and is found with a note clutched in his hand saying _‘We died to save the world’._ That counts as weird, right? _”_

“Yeah,” agreed Kennedy, “That counts as weird. Did Thurber have any other family?”

“No kids of his own. No other siblings, but it looks like Elliot had two kids – Margaret and Aldridge, born in 31 and 33.”

“Aldridge?”

“I know, kinda weird name, right?”

“I was just talking to someone about a man called Aldridge, Aldridge Kemp – I wonder… but his father’s name was Theodore apparently.”

“And this Aldridge was Aldridge Thurber, not Aldridge Kemp.”

“He could have changed his name.”

“He didn’t.”

“You’ve found him?”

“KInda – he died in 1949, and that was pretty mysterious too.”

“Why? How did he die?”

“Nobody knows! They found his body in some fields near a little village called Sizewell. No clue how he died.”

“Sizewell, that sounds familiar. Where is it?”

“Suffolk coast, just down from Dunwich.”

Kennedy suddenly felt panic rising.

“So near Rendlesham Forest?”

“Pretty close yeah.” Slide paused, “You alright, K?”

She held the phone away from her and attempted some quiet breathing exercises, hoping Slide wouldn’t hear how much the mention of that place was getting to her.

“K?”

“Fine, sorry. Bad line.”

“Right,” Slide’s tone said that he didn’t believe her, but he was going to push her either. She was grateful for that.

“Thanks, Slide, this is all really useful. Can you send me all the details?”

“With you in a sec.”

She hung up and turned back to her audio recorder. “So, what do you think Matt? Aldridge isn’t exactly a common name is it? And two guys called Aldridge, both with a potential family connection to someone who had the picture? That’s no coincidence. I think I need to find Aldridge Kemp. But first, I need to send off the last bits for the podcast bonus episodes to the BBC. I’m just sorry they’re not going to be up to your usual standard.”


	8. Chapter 8

“What’s up with you?” asked Parker, frowning at the expression on Mary Lairre’s face, “Please tell me it’s not more trolls.”

Mary pulled a set of earphones from her ears, “Kennedy Fisher put out the final series of the podcast.”

“Oh,” Parker sounded surprised, “Good for her. I’d imagined she was just crumpled in a messy heap somewhere.”

“She doesn’t sound great.”

“Understandable.”

“There’s a recording of Matt’s last moments…”

“Oh.” Parker perched on the table in front of Mary. “You still like him.”

“It’s not that…” Mary sighed, “I could have saved him.”

“I don’t see how.”

“The wards, keeping us out of Pleasant Green – if I’d known who I am, what I am, I could have dropped my wards and got in. They wouldn’t have been warding to keep out ghosts.”

“You don’t know that. They might have.”

Mary looked at Parker, “Seriously.”

“Okay, yes, you could probably have got in as a ghost. But then what? What happened happened, Mary, time to move on.”

Mary nodded slowly, but she didn’t look convinced.

“Johnson wants to see you two,” someone called into the office.

“Oh really,” said Parker, “Now I suppose?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes and got up from the desk. Together Mary and Parker headed for Johnson’s office and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” called Johnson.

The entered.

“Ah, yes, Parker, Lairre. It appears we have a problem,” Johnson said, “You two have been overriding classified echelon triggers, without the appropriate clearance level. Only those at cobalt-delta level and above can override those triggers, as you both well know.”

Mary and Parker glanced at each other.

“Sir,” began Parker, “We only did it for meaningless triggers.”

“Exactly,” chipped in Mary, “Saving the Department from chasing up insignificant alerts.”

“Improving efficiency,” said Parker.

“Your sudden commitment to efficiency is commendable,” said Johnson drily, “But I suggest we return to discussing reality.”

“What reality?” asked Mary.

“We have a more extensive problem than your breaches of protocol,” Johnson replied, “Kennedy Fisher.”

“Because she occasionally screams ‘Pleasant Green’ at government departments?” asked Parker.

“I’m sure they’ve heard worse,” said Mary.

“Soo much worse,” agreed Parker.

“That is not all that Miss Fisher is doing,” said Johnson. “She also broadcast a podcast which risks revealing your identity, Mary, and makes it far too risky for you to use the Eleanor Peck cover again. Miss Fisher also appears to be continuing her investigation, and seeking an artefact with connections to Azathoth, possibly in an effort to re-open the portal. There is a concern, that she may even go so far as to seek out Obed Marsh and, this time, with the intention of being a willing participant in his ritual.”

“Why would she do that?” said Parker frustrated.

“She’s trying to bring Matt back,” said Mary calmly.

“Mary is correct – we suspect that Miss Fisher is attempting to make contact with Matthew Heawood, and may try to do that by participating in a ritual to open the portal.”

“Stupid, stupid,” said Parker, frustrated.

“Precisely,” said Johnson, “Her actions have the potential to be both incredibly stupid and exceedingly dangerous.”

“Do you want us to talk to her, sir?” asked Parker. “Make her see sense.”

“No,” Johnson replied, “I’m afraid we are past that point.”

“Meaning?”

“They’re going to kill her,” said Mary flatly.

“The decision has been taken to terminate Miss Fisher, yes, for the safety of all humanity. It appears that Obed Marsh did escape Pleasant Green and will doubtless be seeking to perform the ritual again. Even if Miss Fisher can be persuaded not to participate willingly, the possibility of her being coerced remains. However, there do not appear to be any other perfect human sacrifices currently living, so if Miss Fisher is terminated, the risk is dealt with, at least for now.”

“Not necessarily,” Mary replied, “There’s a good chance that she doesn’t actually need to be alive for the ritual – they may be able to use her body.”

“So we will ensure she is cremated.”

“I don’t think…”

“You’re not here for me to seek your opinion, Mary. The decision has been taken.”

“So why are we here?” asked Parker, “We don’t really do assassinations. Not of real people anyway.”

“Miss Fisher is likely to have finally learnt to be somewhat suspicious after her recent experiences. However, she may have some faith left in ‘Professor Eleanor Peck’ and she has been annoyingly persistent in her efforts to contact you, Parker, meaning the two of you should be able to bring her to an appropriate location for action to be taken.”

“You want us to lure her to her death?” demanded Mary.

“Essentially, yes.” Johnson gave a thin smile, “I knew you’d understand.”

“No.” 

“Really, Mary,” sighed Johnson, “You must do something about your ridiculous sentimentality when it comes to podcasters.”

“You do realise that Matt Heawood and Kennedy Fisher saved the world. In Pleasant Green – when we were stuck outside doing nothing, half the department traipsing around the Outer Hebrides, they saved the world.”

“Well, possibly Mr Heawood did contribute a little towards that, as far as I can tell Miss Fisher merely walked into a trap and nearly destroyed the world in the process.”

“That’s not fair.”

“These things are often unfair, Mary, but here we are.”

Mary turned and stalked from the room.

“Oh dear,” sighed Johnson, “She really does get very attached to podcasters – she made such a fuss when we were going to kill that Hicks chap too. Well, Parker, you will have to make the contact with Miss Fisher alone. Reed from Red Team will be the lead operative, he’ll formulate a plan in the next 72 hours and let you know what is needed.”

“I understand, Sir.”

“Thank you, Parker, that will be all.”

Parker left the room and headed down the main staircase and out of the Department. She found Mary Lairre kicking stones on the driveway.

“Walk?” Parker asked.

“Hmmpf,” Mary said, but she followed Parker along the driveway and into the surrounding woodland.

“You’re not happy about this,” said Parker finally.

“Are you?”

“Not really,” said Parker thoughtfully, “It’s a shame, I quite liked Kennedy Fisher. She sort of got me, and this personality, I think. More than Heawood did – always wanting me to speak on his podcast and come up with plans for him.”

“I liked them both.”

“Oh, we all know that you liked Heawood.”

Mary gave her a sharp look.

“I don’t know why Kennedy Fisher couldn’t just leave it alone,” sighed Parker, “Everyone had forgotten about her, she could have lived a perfectly happy life.”

“They were a team, Parker – she lost her partner, of course she’s going to try to get him back.”

“Well, you would know more about losing partners than me.”

“That’s because you’ve only ever had one partner – and I’m already a ghost, so not a great deal to lose there.”

“Says the ghost who managed to get lost in convincing herself she was a living, breathing 21st century academic for a few years.”

“And you could have left me in that, but you didn’t – you brought me back.”

“Well, I had to do something – eventually people would have noticed the whole not ageing thing.”

“Really, that’s the only reason? Otherwise you would have just left me there, trapped in another life, thinking I was someone else?”

“I don’t know,” mused Parker, “Maybe. You seemed happy.”

“Well, wherever Matt is, I don’t think he’s happy. And I understand why Kennedy wants to try to bring him back. And, the villain in all this is Obed Marsh, not Kennedy – so if we really want to put a stop to it, we should be killing him.”

“Yeah, but he’s been around hundreds of years, skulking about in different identities, surviving ritual attempts that wiped everyone else out, so possibly quite difficult to kill. Whereas Kennedy is the kind of woman who’d turn up to a dodgy meeting in a darkened alley armed with nothing more than an audio recorder. She’s kind of an easy hit.”

“I see that. It still doesn’t make it right.”

“We have 72 hours.”

“What?”

“Reed from Red Team is making the plan for offing Kennedy in the next 72 hours, so we have until then to do something.”

“And by ‘something’, do you mean bring back Matt, save Kennedy, and kill Obed Marsh?”

“Basically.”

“Right. Better get started then.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Hello,” Kennedy, back in her London flat, answered her phone.

“Kennedy, it’s me, Sarah.”

“Oh, hi, Sarah.”

Sarah was an old friend from college, and from Kennedy’s newspaper days. Even after Kennedy had gone full time on the podcast with Matt, she and Sarah had still met up for drinks fairly often. Until the whole Charles Dexter Ward thing. After everything that had happened, Kennedy had found it difficult to connect with her old friends, her old life again. She’d really only been able to connect with Matt after that. He was the only person who seemed to approach her with the perfect balance – concerned, but not fussing; rational, but not judgmental; always present, but still respecting her space. Nobody else had been able to give her that.

“I heard your podcast,” said Sarah, “Was it – was it all real?”

“Yeah,” replied Kennedy wearily.

“And Matt’s really missing?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Oh God, Kennedy, I – I’m so sorry. Are you okay? You sounded really upset on the podcast. And then nobody’s really heard from you in months and – we should meet and talk. Or I could come over?”

“I’m working.”

“It’s late.”

“Hmm, still working.”

“Kennedy, I’m – I’m worried about you. I’m going to come over.”

Kennedy sighed, “Please don’t, Sarah.”

“I think you need someone to talk to.”

“I have someone to talk to.”

“Who?”

Kennedy picked up her audio recorder and looked at it for a moment, “A friend.”

“Kennedy…”

“Got to go – I’ll call you soon. We’ll do drinks then.”

“Okay, make sure you do.”

“Absolutely. Bye.” Kennedy hung up the phone and put her head in her hand.

That was the sixteenth phone call she’d had since the podcast went live the previous day. They were an endless mix of concerned friends, doubting acquaintances and gossips looking for more detail on the story. And not a single one could help her at all.

Her phone rang again.

“Hello,” said Kennedy, wearily answering an unknown number, whilst glancing back to her computer where she was still searching for an Aldridge Kemp in Amsterdam.

“Kennedy?”

She sat up suddenly alert, “Eleanor?”

“Yes. How are you?”

“I’m… I don’t know. How are you? Where have you been? I tried to contact you.”

“I know. I’m sorry Kennedy, I – I needed some time, after everything with Matt, you know…” Mary managed to sound fairly emotional. Parker gave her a thumbs up and a nod.

“It’s okay,” Kennedy replied softly, “I understand. I just – I wanted your help. I’m still trying to find him.”

“I know, I heard the end of your podcast. Can we meet?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m in London tomorrow. I could come to the studio.”

“I don’t have the studio anymore.” Kennedy sighed, “Come to my flat – I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Oh – Eleanor?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the name Mary Lairre?”

“Mary Lairre,” Mary said thoughtfully, “No, I don’t think so – oh actually I think Parker mentioned that name, back when we were at the house, when Matt…”

“Yes, exactly,” said Kennedy.

“She was a colleague that Parker was trying to contact, I think,” said Mary carefully, “Through some kind of communication device, she kept asking if she was there – she didn’t get any reply though and she wouldn’t give me any more information when I asked about her.”

“She was speaking into a device, when she was with you?”

“Yes – not like a mobile phone, like a little gadget thing.”

“Oh, right.” Kennedy hesitated, “That makes sense, I guess... I tried searching the name and just got loads of stuff about this supposed ghost of a nun that haunted an old rectory. It’s kind of weird…”

“Well, Parker did say they all pick names for themselves at the Department of Works,” said Mary, “Maybe one of them decided to take the name of a dead nun. Makes about as much sense as ‘John Silence’.”

“Yeah, true.” Kennedy hesitated again. “It just seemed weird on the – I don’t know, I’m tired, maybe I misinterpreted the recording. Umm, see you tomorrow, Eleanor.”

“See you then.”

Mary hung up the call and looked to Parker.

“You lie well,” said Parker approvingly.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want me to give you a little magical boost to make sure you’re a convincing Eleanor in person tomorrow?”

Mary stared at her in disbelief.

“Sorry,” said Parker blithely, “Just an offer.”


	10. Chapter 10

Slide ignored the buzzer on the first ring and continued on his computer but, as the sound became more repetitive and insistent, he finally went to see who was at his door.

“What the fuck, K?”

“Can I come in?”

“It’s like 2am.”

“Right, and you’re about to claim that you’re the sort of computer nerd who keeps sociable hours?”

“Not the point,” Slide told her, but he let her enter. “What do you want?”

“Can anyone hear us?” Kennedy demanded glancing around the room.

“No,” said Slide slowly. “What’s happening, K?”

“You’re absolutely sure no one can hear us? What about listening via phones or something?”

“Turn your phone off, take the –”

“I haven’t brought my phone with me.”

“Okay then.”

“What about your phone?”

“We’re secure, K, trust me. What’s this about?”

“I need a favour.”


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning Kennedy was sat at her computer when the doorbell rang. She got up and went to open it.

“Hi, Eleanor.”

“Hi, Kennedy. How are you?”

Kennedy shrugged, “You?”

“Still struggling to process it all I think.”

Kennedy nodded and led Eleanor into the flat. “You want coffee or something?”

“Yeah, thanks,” replied Eleanor.

As she filled the kettle Kennedy noticed Eleanor glancing around and suddenly wished she hadn’t invited the academic to her flat. The disorganised piles of notes and books, unattended washing up, dying plants and dirty clothes didn’t exactly give the best impression. She should have suggested meeting at the café instead. But with the new lockdown the café was takeaway now and the November cold made the park far less appealing then it had been a few months ago, with Matt.

“Sorry about the mess,” Kennedy said, “I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Don’t,” Eleanor smiled.

Kennedy made some drinks and cleared some space and they sat together, drinking black coffee silently for a while.

“Why did you want to meet?” she asked.

“To see how you are,” Eleanor told her, “And how things are going, and – if I can help.”

Kennedy nodded slowly. “Do you have any ideas?”

Eleanor sighed, “I suppose the main question is how to get access to wherever Pleasant Green is, wherever the missing villages go. Pleasant Green re-appeared, but its reappearance was temporary and those conditions are unlikely to be replicated anytime soon.”

Kennedy nodded.

“I’ve looked into some of the other missing places but it’s difficult to establish any kind of pattern or clue as to the potential for their re-appearance. And then there is the question of whether there is a link to Pleasant Green – do all of the disappeared places and populations end up in the same place? And the Pleasant Green village that temporarily re-appeared had no inhabitants at all, so is it even possible for people to come back?”

“It has to be,” said Kennedy determinedly.

Eleanor glanced at her, “In the extra episode of your podcast – the Somerton man one, you mentioned being in Amsterdam looking for a man called Aldridge Kemp – what was his connection?”

“Did you listen to the bonus episodes?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Only that I’d like to hear about what you discovered regarding Aldridge Kemp. Maybe I could help?”

Kennedy considered for a moment and then replied, “Aldridge Kemp is the son of a man called Theodore Kemp, who supposedly had possession of a picture by Pickman called Azathoth’s Hound. The reference to Azathoth in the title caught my interest, along with the fact that there is a bit of a mystery about the picture, which has never been seen, and whether it was destroyed, and also whether it was not a painting at all – but a photo of some real monster.”

“I see,” Eleanor said, “You think finding this picture will help in some way?”

“I think it’s the only lead I’ve had in months and I’ll follow it until it works, or until I find something better.”

“I’ve heard of Pickman of course, but I don’t know a lot about the stories around his work. I’d have to do some research.”

“He supposedly gave the picture to a man named Edward Thurber who destroyed it, but the rumour is that it wasn’t destroyed. I think I’ve found the Edward Thurber,” Kennedy went to the table and shuffled through some papers, “He killed his nephew and himself in mysterious circumstances, and then a few years later the nephew’s son – also called Aldridge – died in mysterious circumstances too.” She handed Eleanor some printed pages.

Eleanor flicked through them.

“Apparently the nephew also had a daughter, Margaret,” continued Kennedy, “But I haven’t been able to find her. And I haven’t been able to track down Aldridge Kemp – he moved about four years ago and doesn’t seem to be in Amsterdam anymore.”

“You’re probably better at finding people than me,” Eleanor told her, “But I can look into the mythology around the painting?”

“That would be great,” Kennedy smiled, “Thank you.”

“I should get going,” Eleanor said with a glance at her watch, “I have half an hour to get to a meeting.”

“An actual in person meeting?” Kennedy asked.

“Yeah – I think they’re going to space us out around a really big room.” Eleanor stood, “It was good to see you, Kennedy.”

“You too.”

* * *

Kennedy spent much of the afternoon tracking down phone numbers for houses near to where Aldridge Kemp had lived in Amsterdam and calling their occupants. She was disappointed to find that most people seemed to have recently moved to the area and either didn’t remember Aldridge at all, or could give her almost no information about him. However, she persisted.

“Hello, I’m sorry to bother you, Mr…?”

“Janssen.”

“Mr Janssen, my name is Kennedy – I’m trying to get in contact with a former neighbour of yours, Aldridge Kemp.”

“Aldridge?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I did. I used to see him around now and then. He moved away a few years ago.”

“Yes, I heard – do you know where he went?”

“What do you want him for?”

“I’m carrying out a study of a particular artist, and I believe Aldridge has one of his pieces. It used to belong to his father, Theodore. I’m keen to see – for my study – and was hoping Aldridge might be persuaded to show it.”

“Hmm, well – I don’t have his address. He’s somewhere in America I think.”

“America?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any other contact details – phone number, email address?”

“I’m afraid not. Why don’t you give me your number, and if I hear from him – I’ll pass it on.”

“That would be great, thanks. Do tell him I’m really keen to speak to him.”

“If he gets in touch I will.”

Kennedy gave the man her number and hung up the call. She sat back thoughtfully, “So, he is definitely still in touch with Aldridge, right? But not giving out details to random people on the phone, which is probably fair enough. Let’s just hope Aldridge is up for talking to me.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was getting late when Kennedy’s doorbell signalled Eleanor Peck’s return. Kennedy welcomed her, offered more coffee and got Eleanor’s permission to record.

“So,” began Eleanor, “The Pickman story is – interesting. The stuff that you’ve heard ties in with the legends and stories about him. Richard Upton Pickman was born in 1902 in London. The Pickman’s were a well-off family and Richard had a fairly normal upbringing – boarding school etc. But in 1919 he sees the photographs of the Cottingley Fairies – have you heard of them?”

“Vaguely,” Kennedy replied, “The two girls with the fake fairy pictures right? The ones Arthur Conan Doyle believed in?”

“Exactly,” replied Eleanor, “And the interesting connection there is that the pictures of the Cottingley Fairies became publicly known through a meeting of the Theosophical Society.”

“Seriously?”

"Yes – the photos were taken to a meeting of the Theosophical Society by the mother of one of the girls. They were shown at a later conference, and publicised by a member called Edward Gardner, whom Conan Doyle then contacted before writing his article in support. It isn’t officially recorded, but it seems that the meeting at which the pictures were first shown was also attended by a girl called Lottie, whom Pickman had some kind of relationship with at the time.

Pickman is an artist and really interested in photography. He learns about the photos, initially from Lottie and then from the publicity surrounding them and he really wants to photograph phenomena like the Cottingley Fairies. He starts off painting pictures in 1920 and his initial ones aren’t particularly freaky, they’re variations on fairies, that sort of thing. He’s fairly successful – cashing in on some of the fairy interest, buys a camera and starts trying to take photographs as well. Then, his subject matter starts to get progressively darker over the next couple of years. He has an exhibition scheduled in early 1923, but people are horrified by the work he presents – not he’s painting monsters, half-human creatures, tortured, agonised faces – nobody is wanting to hang those on their wall. After this, Pickman’s father, who had been largely supportive of his son, cuts him off entirely. By 1925, Pickman is struggling to survive, making almost no money from his work, but still won’t change what he paints. Edward Thurber, becomes a sort of friend to Pickman. He writes articles about Pickman’s talent and criticises those who refuse to engage with his work on the basis of subject matter. He has this whole treatise about art as experimentation, stuff like that. Pickman starts regularly inviting Thurber to view his work. However, in 1927, Thurber suddenly cuts ties with Pickman completely. Won’t support him, won’t comment on his work, won’t even acknowledge him when they meet. Nobody really knows why, but this is the story: Thurber went with Pickman to another place, a kind of studio I guess, that Pickman used for his paintings. While they were there, Thurber saw a painting that was truly horrifying, and which Pickman said he was calling Azathoth’s Hound. Thurber is shocked by what he sees and leaves in a hurry, taking with him a piece of paper that was pinned to the picture. Later he tells people that Pickman gave him the painting Azathoth’s Hound and that it made him see Pickman in a different light, and he destroyed it. Pickman, over a decade later, denies ever giving the painting to Thurber, and says that Thurber actually stole a sketch of it from his studio, and that after that Pickman could not complete the painting to his satisfaction and so destroyed it.

The rumour is that what Thurber took – whether accidentally or deliberately, was neither the painting nor a sketch, but was a photograph, and he was so horrified because Pickman was painting Azathoth’s Hound from real life.”

“Yes – Clara Aldenburg told me that, the implication was that all of his pictures were based on real life.”

“Exactly,” Eleanor paused, “So, the painting is apparently destroyed, never seen anywhere. However, the rumour is that Thurber’s nephew, Elliott took the photo, sketch, whatever it was, from Thurber and substituted it with something else. So, when Thurber thought he burnt it, that was actually something else, and Elliott took the picture. Elliott is 18 at this time and has been living with Edward Thurber for most of his childhood since his parents died. Then, in 1941, Elliott is staying in Saxmundham with his wife.”

“Saxmundham?”

“Yes,” Eleanor paused, “Sorry.”

Kennedy shook her head, “No, go on.”

“Okay, around 11pm on April 22nd Elliott sets out from Saxmundham on foot, walking west towards the coast. Edward Thurber arrives at the hotel out of the blue a few minutes later, and he sets off after Elliott. The following morning their bodies are discovered about half an hour down the road, with a gun. Thurber has shot Elliot, then shot himself, and in his hand is a bit of paper reading…”

“We died to save the world,” said Kennedy slowly.

“Exactly.”

“Aldridge Thurber, Elliott’s son – he died in the same area, right?”

“Yes – Sizewell, about 7 miles away. Also on the night of April 22nd to 23rd.”

“What were they doing there?”

“The story is that Aldridge Thurber was attempting some kind of ritual, but it went wrong and killed him. Officially, cause of death was never determined.”

Kennedy rubbed her head distractedly, “Is this Rendlesham?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t know, but Aldridge was also last seen walking off into the Suffolk countryside at night, just before midnight. If we assume that Elliott had been attempting the same thing, until his uncle stopped him, then they were definitely aiming for somewhere in that area, on the same date, and at a similar time of night.”

“Right,” said Kennedy, putting her head in her hands. Then suddenly she looked up, “What happened to the picture?”

The doorbell rang. Both women looked up suddenly.

“Are you expecting anyone?” asked Eleanor.

“No,” replied Kennedy, getting cautiously to her feet and heading for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to incorporate a real story of 'weird photos' into this chapter and the Cottingley Fairies came into my head. When I quickly looked it up I found that Edward Gardner who initially publicised the photos in lectures first saw them at a meeting of the Theosophical Society (whose co-founder Helena Blavatsky got a mention in Shadow Over Innsmouth episode 6 when Eleanor was talking about Count St Germain). Everything is connected!


	13. Chapter 13

“Parker,” Kennedy said, as she saw the person on the other side of her door.

“Kennedy Fisher,” replied Parker. “Can I come in?”

Kennedy stepped back and Parker followed her into the flat.

“Eleanor Peck is here,” Kennedy said.

“So I see.”

“Funny you both re-appearing in my life on the same day. After ignoring all my calls for ages.”

“Isn’t it?” said Parker. “And with all that shouting at government departments you’ve been doing." She glanced around and then took a seat, “Please, carry on," she said with a wave of her hand, "Don’t mind me. I’m just here to find out what you two are up to. And hopefully drink tea. Do you have any tea?”

Kennedy got up and clattered around in the kitchen while Eleanor picked up with the answer to Kennedy's earlier question.

“Well, it’s unclear what happened to the picture. But since Elliott and Aldridge were both dead by the end of the 40s, it most likely ended up with Elliot's daughter, or his widow – but there isn’t any record or even rumour confirming that.”

“Is that the end?” asked Parker, “Did I manage to miss the lecture?”

Eleanor glared at her.

“Do you take milk?” Kennedy asked Parker coldly.

“Yes,” Parker said.

Kennedy slammed the fridge shut. “I’m just running down to the corner shop then, I’ll be two minutes.”

She left, closing the front door behind her.

After she had gone, Parker stood up and glanced out of the window to see Kennedy crossing the street. She turned and moved slowly around the flat, first examining the plants by the window and then moving back across the room, looking at everything, while Mary watched her silently.

“How many books on unsolved mysteries does one person need?” Parker asked, looking at the bookshelves. She looked down at Kennedy's audio recorder and hit pause. Then she glanced at Mary, “By the way, Reed got in touch.”

“With his plan?”

“Mm-hmm," said Parker, continuing to explore Kennedy's home, "He’s thinking hit and run, with a **_big_** truck.”

“Yeah,” sighed Mary, “Subtlety is not Red Team’s strong suit.”

“I know right? I think they’d mow her down with a tank if they could find a plausible way to make it look like an accident in the middle of London.” Parker’s exploration of the flat moved into the kitchen. “Should we tell her?”

“Seriously? How do you envisage that going? ‘By the way, Kennedy, our boss is currently arranging to have you killed. But don’t worry – you can trust us.’”

“I don’t know,” mused Parker, “I find people are sometimes more compliant under threat of death.”

“I don’t think this is one of those situations.”

“I suppose,” Parker said thoughtfully, opening the fridge, “Oh shit.”

“What?”

Parker turned around with a bottle in her hand, “There’s milk in the fridge. In date too.”

“Bollocks,” sighed Mary.

They heard the key turn in the lock, the front door opened, and Kennedy Fisher strode in. She was not carrying any milk.

“Kennedy – ” began Mary.

Kennedy gave her a sharp look, “Marry Lairre, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“Of the Department?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re trying to kill me?”

“No, no, you misunderstand” said Parker in her cheerfully detached tone, “Our boss is trying to have you killed. We’re here to help you.”

“And I’m seriously supposed to believe that?”

“Of course,” Parker said simply, “Why would we tell you this if we weren’t on your side?”

“You didn’t tell me! I had to bug my own flat to find out about it.”

“Oh, yes… that was quite clever actually," said Parker approvingly, "I suppose you got the kit from your hacker friend when you made that late night visit."

Kennedy was beginning to panic.

"You are doing pretty well," Parker added, looking through Kennedy's kitchen drawers for a spoon, "It's almost like you're finally learning not to blindly trust everyone you meet.”

"I certainly don't trust you two." Kennedy said, now definitely panicking, "You need to leave."

"No, Kennedy, you do actually need to trust us," said Mary.

Kennedy shook her head. “That's...” she gasped, "Give me one good reason why I should."

“Because you’ve got no one else?” suggested Mary calmly.

"That is true," agreed Parker, waving the spoon as if to emphasise the point.

Kennedy looked from one to the other. “I can’t – this is insane.”

“I know,” sighed Parker, turning back to making her tea, “You’d be surprised how often the world is.”

Kennedy took some deep breaths.

“Sit down, Kennedy,” Mary said, “No one’s killing you tonight.”

“How do I know that? How do I know the two of you aren’t going to…?” Kennedy gasped for breath.

“We don’t really do assassinations,” Parker assured her, taking a seat and sipping her tea. “Not of real people anyway.”

Mary gave her a look, “How many times do I have to say it, the real-unreal dichotomy is a nonsense– ”

“Oh God,” groaned Parker, “Please not another lecture.”

“Will you both just shut up,” snapped Kennedy. She turned to Mary, “So you are Mary Lairre?”

“I am, yes.”

“And the whole time, the last three years – you made up Eleanor Peck to – to what? Just to screw with me and Matt?”

“Eleanor Peck has been an alternative identity of mine for a long time,” Mary told her, “I’ve used it for years – how else do you think I met Henry Akeley in 2012?”

“You’ve been pretending to be Eleanor Peck since 2012?”

“Oh, before that. But not normally all the time – it was a cover identity I used occasionally, but then I got a bit lost in it a few years ago. Forgot who I really am.”

“How is that possible? How could you forget who you actually are?”

“That was sort of me,” chipped in Parker, “I wasn’t so sure about Mary’s acting, so I gave her a little magical boost and the effect was **_way_ **more than expected.”

“Magical… you do magic?”

“Of course,” Parker said simply. “Really, everything you’ve seen over the last three years and you’re still struggling with that?”

Kennedy just stared at her.

“Shall we get back to the point?” Mary suggested.

“Yes, good idea,” Parker agreed. “So, what do we have? And please, please give me the abridged version.”

Mary explained her research about Pickman and the Thurbers and Kennedy eventually calmed down enough to chip in with her discoveries from Amsterdam.

“Right,” said Parker, “So it sounds like we need to focus on locating Margaret Thurber and Aldridge Kemp. Mary and I should also be keeping an eye out for Obed Marsh…”

“Are you taking the lead on this?” Mary asked.

“It seems to make sense,” Parker replied.

Mary scoffed, “Really?”

"More action, fewer lectures..."

"I act."

“Are you two always like this?” demanded Kennedy.

Parker and Mary exchanged looks. “Like what?”

“We should be able to dig up some details through the Department,” Mary commented, getting the conversation back on track “But we’ll need to be careful nobody realises what we’re up to.”

“Why?” asked Kennedy.

“Because we’re supposed to be luring you to your death,” Parker told her, “Not helping you.”

“I thought you didn’t do assassinations?”

“We don’t – the plan was really for us to be more like bait, for Reed and his big truck.”

“Reassuring,” Kennedy said sarcastically.

“We should get back,” Mary said, “See what we can find.”

“What do I do?” Kennedy asked.

“Hmm – keep digging I suppose,” advised Parker, “But probably mostly by phone. I’d avoid roads if I were you, and, well, anywhere there could be a big truck actually. Maybe just - stay inside… self-isolate.”


	14. Chapter 14

“How’s the research going?” asked Parker, finding Mary in the Department archives.

“Not bad,” Mary replied, “Might go better if I wasn’t doing it alone.”

“I don’t know – it’s your thing, isn’t it? Leftover from all that time you spent masquerading as an academic.”

Mary gave her a look.

“Besides,” added Parker, after carefully checking there was nobody else there, “I have to be upstairs, distracting Johnson and covering for you.”

“Which is a full time job?”

“It is pretty demanding actually. Luckily this personality is an excellent liar. Which has got me thinking…”

“Hmm,” Mary said, continuing with her work, “Thinking about what?”

“Well, this personality is so good at lying because it draws heavily on the spy genre, it’s all about deception.”

“And?”

“Narratively there should be a deceiver – someone I trust who lies to me and endangers my mission. But that hasn’t happened.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t trust anyone,” suggested Mary.

“Maybe…” Parker said thoughtfully, staring at Mary.

After a few moments Mary looked up and caught her gaze. “What?”

“I trust you.”

“What?” Mary scoffed. “Okay, well I’m not planning any great treachery right now – I can’t say that that situation won’t change if you don’t help me out with some of the work.”

Parker sighed and held out her hand. “This is really quite dull now,” she said disappointedly, “Couldn’t you have got this done some time in the 400 years before I got here?”

Mary glanced up to roll her eyes and then stopped suddenly, “Hang on – maybe it just got interesting.”

“What do you have?”

“Margaret Thurber died in America, only she wasn’t Margaret Thurber when she died.”

“Who was she?”

“Margaret Kemp,” smiled Eleanor, “Wife of Theodore, mother of Aldridge. And look where she died.”

“Okay,” said Parker slowly, leaning over to take a look, “This might actually be getting interesting.”


	15. Chapter 15

After Parker and Lairre left Kennedy’s first instinct had been to sit motionless, until the shock had worn off, and then attempt some breathing exercises. Her second instinct, largely inspired by TV and films, was to make sure her doors and windows were securely locked, draw all the curtains and then start arranging anything that might make a noise all around her flat, along with long pieces of string.

The following morning, sitting at her computer eating breakfast, Kennedy wondered if she had been a little over-zealous. She’d smashed a vase and set off a loud alarm on her way from the bedroom to the kitchen to make coffee that morning, and was struggling to remember how she should move around her flat without causing anymore chaos. She wondered if Slide might have some more high-tech security options that he could lend her.

Her phone rang and she answered it distractedly, “Hello?”

“Is that Ms Kennedy?” the voice on the phone was of an older man with an accent that was a mix of American and something else.

“Who is this?”

“My name is Alridge – Aldridge Kemp. A friend told me that you were trying to get in touch with me?”

“Oh, yes,” Kennedy sat up sharply, almost knocking her coffee to the floor, “Mr Kemp, thank you so much for calling. I’m Kennedy Fisher.”

“Fisher?”

The phone went dead.

“Damn!” Kennedy exclaimed, immediately calling back. The phone went to voicemail.

“Mr Kemp,” she said “I – I’m sorry if my name startled you. It’s true that Fisher is my surname and if that startled you for the reasons that I’m guessing it did, then it is also true that I am connected to that Fisher family. But I only recently found this out. And it’s not a connection I want, or would ever want. The circumstances in which I learnt about it were… frightening, and it has caused nothing but trouble since. Please – I – I don’t know how to prove this to you, but…” she paused, “I made a podcast, a few podcasts, but if you look up one called the Whisperer in Darkness and listen to the beginning of episode eight, you’ll hear how I discovered this connection, and how I felt about it. Please, please call me back.”

She hung up the phone with a sigh and rested her head on the desk in front of her. Her phone rang instantly.

“Hello?” she said hopefully.

“Kennedy Fisher,” said Parker’s dry voice.

“Oh, hello, Parker.”

“You don’t sound thrilled to hear from me.”

“I thought you were going to be someone else – Aldridge Kemp.”

“Have you had some luck getting hold of him?”

“Yes, he called me. And then hung up as soon as he heard my last name.”

“Ah,” Parker said, “You probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“Thanks,” Kennedy replied sarcastically, “Great advice.”

“Cheer up – we have some information for you.”

“Go on.”

“After Aldridge Thurber died, his sister Margaret went to America, along with her mother. They lived in a little place called Providence, Rhode Island –”

“You’re shitting me?”

“No, I am not. Margaret married a local man, by the name of Theodore Kemp, and they had a son…”

“Called Aldridge.”

“Bingo. Margaret killed herself in 1954 less than a year after Aldridge was born. Quite a bleak suicide too, she threw herself into a furnace – burnt to a crisp.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, interesting isn’t it?”

“I guess that’s one word for it…”

* * *

After Parker hung up Kennedy pulled a fresh piece of paper in front of her and decided to sketch the Thurber family tree. She had accessed most of the UK records going back a couple of generations, and the information from Parker, as well as filling in later details, seemed to make the family even more of a focus.

Around half an hour later she was still busily at work, noting down dates and drawing in lines when her phone rang again.

“Hello?"

“Miss Fisher?”

“Yes,” Kennedy was thrilled to hear Aldridge Kemp’s voice, “Thank you so much for calling back – I am sorry if I startled you before.”

“Please, don’t apologise. How can I help you?”

“I’m trying to find out about a particular picture that I think you might have.”

“Azathoth’s Hound?”

“How did you guess?”

“I did what you suggested – listened to the episode of your podcast. I’m, I’m very sorry about what happened to you.”

“Thank you.” Kennedy paused, “Do you have the picture?”

“I do.”

“What does it show?”

Kemp hesitated, “I’ve only ever looked it once. It – it shows an animal, a large black dog, before a – something I can’t describe, a hole in, well – in the world. Not just in the ground, but in the surroundings, and the air too. It’s so strange, unreal almost, except… except that it’s a photograph, and taken long before any of this photoshop nonsense. I don’t really know what it is, Miss Fisher, but it’s haunted my family for the longest time. My mother killed herself when I was less than a year old because of that picture. Before I was born my grandfather and my uncle both died because of it. Frankly, Miss Fisher, I’m afraid of it. And that fear was why I decided never to have a family of my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Kennedy told him honestly, “I know what it’s like when some kind of ancient family legacy like that turns up and ruins your life.”

“You’ve lost family too?”

“No, not that I know of. But,” Kennedy took a breath and tried to control her emotions, “Friends, I’ve lost friends – my best friend in particular.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that," Alridge told her with real sympathy in his voice, "What was your friend’s name?”

“Matt…” her voice shook slightly, "He was called Matt."

“Not the man on the podcast?”

Kennedy just started to cry.

“Miss Fisher – Kennedy – I’m so very sorry for your loss. And of course I want to help you anyway I can. It sounds like you and I might be on the same side.”

“Thank you,” Kennedy choked, “I’m sorry – I…”

“It’s fine.”

“You said your grandfather and uncle died because of the picture?”

“That’s right.”

“They were attempting some sort of ritual?”

“I believe so – the picture has some text in the corner, the ritual has to take place at 1:21 and involves fire in the sky. I believe they both intended to enact the ritual at the appropriate time, but I have no idea about the reference to fire in the sky.”

“Okay,” Kennedy took a breath, “Thank you. Did the picture pass to your father after your mother’s death?”

“Yes, that’s right. And my father hid it away for many years. But I think he became curious, and later he moved to Amsterdam, to find out more about my mother’s family.”

“I thought your mother’s family were from the UK?”

“I think many of my ancestors were,” agreed Kemp, “And my mother was born there. But there was some family connection to the Netherlands too. I’m afraid I don’t know the details, I never wanted to.”

“Right, okay…” Kennedy paused to think.

“Do you think I should burn it?” asked Kemp suddenly.

“The picture?”

“Yes – I’ve always wondered, well – especially since my father died and it came to me. I’ve never been sure if it is better to destroy it, or to keep it secure, in case someone needs it one day. I have no idea if there are other copies, you see.”

“I really don’t know. I don’t think I’m well-placed to advise you…”

“No, of course.”

Kennedy paused, “There are some people I could ask for advice. But first, could I visit you? It would be good to talk more and maybe I could see the picture?”

“Yes, okay,” Kemp agreed. “It would be good to meet you. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken with someone who understands my position before.”

“Great. Send me your address – I’m looking for a flight now.”


	16. Chapter 16

Kennedy pushed the curtain aside and looked around the street before dashing out to the taxi waiting for her with just a small bag in her hand. As the taxi drove towards the airport she found herself constantly looking around, checking all of the windows, including out the back and tensing nervously anytime she saw a vehicle larger than a small van.

She arrived at the airport without incident and ran through it to get her last minute flight. There were a lot of restrictions on flights to the US, but fortunately her US citizenship meant that she could still get into the country.

Once she was on the plane Kennedy dug out some of her notes and decided to finish off the Thurber family tree. With some careful searching and sketching she had been able to produce a fairly accurate outline of the Thurber family from the 1860s to the present day. She was hoping her trip to America might be able to fill in the last dates.


	17. Chapter 17

At around the time Kennedy was boarding her last-minute flight, Parker and Lairre were leaving an unrelated briefing.

Parker glanced at her phone and sighed, “Messages from Kennedy Fisher. This is what happens when you stop mysteriously appearing in someone’s life and trust them with your number.”

“What does she say?”

Parker skimmed the messages, “Aldridge Kemp got back in touch – the Thurbers have a connection to the Netherlands – she’s sending some audio – she’s going to the States…”

“She’s going to the States?” repeated Mary.

“Apparently so,” replied Parker, “That’s what she’s like. Tell her to avoid big trucks – she hops on a flight to the land of big trucks. Like I said … **_such_** an easy hit.”

“What’s the audio she’s sent?”

Parker followed the link and brought up a recording Kennedy had stored on the podcast’s old secure server. She hit play and they both leaned in to listen to Kennedy’s conversation with Aldridge Kemp.

“I guess we’re going to America,” said Parker when it finished.

“Johnson’s going to love this,” replied Mary dryly.

* * *

Kennedy stared at the Thurber family tree, wondering where to go from here. Aldridge’s mention of a family connection to the Netherlands was still on her mind. Fortunately, there weren’t too many people on the plane and nobody right next to her, and so she didn’t feel too uncomfortable making a quiet audio recording.

“So, I’ve got the Thurbers all the way back to William born in 1861,” she whispered, “Births, marriages and deaths in the UK – except for Margaret who died in the US, and Aldridge who was born there… What I haven’t done is checked the places of birth for those who married into the family – Enid, Florence, Charlotte and Theodore – maybe they brought something. Florence’s surname is Anderson and Charlotte’s is Veenstra – they both sound potentially Dutch to me… Let’s start with Anderson.”

She opened up a search in a window and typed.

“Okay, so unsurprisingly there are a lot of Florence Andersons – Anderson is a super common name so it’s going to be pretty difficult to track down Florence’s roots. Lets see if there is something about the origin of the name Anderson… right, so it looks like it originated in Scotland and in Scandinavia, so close and there’s probably plenty in the Netherlands.

Let’s try Veenstra… so, nowhere near as common as Anderson, and mostly in the Netherlands – okay, so maybe the Thurber’s Dutch heritage comes from Charlotte… Veenstra is a variation of the name Van der Veen, meaning,” Kennedy froze and took a deep breath, “From the fen… or marsh.”


	18. Chapter 18

When Kennedy’s flight arrived she called Parker from the airport.

“Kennedy Fisher,” said Parker, putting the phone on speaker and holding it out for Mary to listen too. “Are you in America now?”

“Yes, Parker – listen, Margaret Thurber’s mother was called Charlotte Veenstra – it’s a Dutch surname, and it can mean from the fen or marsh.”

“Fens and marshes are different things,” Mary said, “So it probably relates more to fens, but I get the point. You think Charlotte Thurber could be a descendant of the Marsh family?”

“It’s possible isn’t it?” asked Kennedy, “If she was a Marsh, then the Thurbers – Margaret and Aldridge at least, were part of the Marsh family too.”

“We can look into that,” Mary said.

“Where are you, Kennedy?”

“In the airport – I’ve just landed. I’m heading to Aldridge Kemp’s house on the way to my hotel.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? What if Aldridge Kemp is a Marsh?”

“If he is, he doesn’t want to be. The same way I’m not thrilled at being related to those lunatics.”

“Well… that’s what he says.”

“I believe him, Parker.”

“That’s not much of an endorsement, you believe everyone.”

“He freaked out when he heard my name.”

“And then you talked him round with shared experiences and a few tears over Matt?”

“Don’t.”

“Kennedy, I think you should be cautious,” Mary interrupted, seeing the conversation slipping away.

“I will. But I’m going to see that picture. I’ll call you.”

She hung up before either Mary or Parker could reply.

“We need to talk to Johnson,” said Parker, sounding unimpressed.

“First let’s find something on Charlotte Veenstra.”

“Oh God,” groaned Parker, “It really is all about the research with you isn’t it? I wish you’d never pretended to be that blood academic. Oh, and how come you know the difference between fens and marshes?”

“400 years of reading,” smirked Mary, “I know almost everything.”

Parker rolled her eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

By the time Kennedy reached Aldridge Kemp’s house it was already late and dark. She had considered going to her hotel first and visiting Aldridge in the morning, but in the end she had decided she couldn’t wait.

She rang the bell and the door was opened by a thin, slightly dishevelled man in his late sixties. His lined face looked weary and careworn, but was transformed by a warm, welcoming smile when Kennedy introduced herself and apologised for visiting so late.

“Not at all,” Aldridge dismissed her apology and led her down a dark hallway to a small, but neat living room. “I hardly ever get visitors, so this is a treat. And it’s very good to meet you. As I said on the phone – it is rare to find anyone who really understands things...”

Kennedy nodded, “I know that feeling. By the way, do you mind if I record this?”

“For your podcast?”

“No, there isn’t really a podcast anymore. It’s just for my own reference I guess. And for Matt.”

“Sure, record away. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Maybe a coffee?”

“Sure.”

Kennedy looked around the room while Aldridge made the drinks. There were a few comfortable chairs, a television, a table and a small bookcase, which Kennedy was pleased to see contained no books on the occult. A few photos sat on a shelf – one an old picture of a young couple with a baby; one a young Aldridge with an older man who, from the familial resemblance, Kennedy would guess was his father, Theodore; and one showing a young Aldridge with a woman of a similar age.

Aldridge came in with the cups in hand, “Ah, looking at old photos? I can tell you’re an investigator.”

“Sorry,” Kennedy turned with a smile and accepted the cup, “I’m afraid I was having a bit of a general look around, force of habit.”

Aldridge laughed, “Don’t you worry, I have nothing to hide. Or, perhaps more truthfully, I’m already planning to tell you the things I prefer to hide.”

“Who’s this?” Kennedy asked pointing to the picture with the young woman, “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Aldridge told her, taking a seat and gesturing for Kennedy to do the same. “That’s Sarah. We lived just down the street from each other and I thought she was just impossibly beautiful. All through high school, I just wanted to be close to her, you know?”

Kennedy smiled.

"In our last year of school we started dating. We were together about five years, all through college and beyond.” Aldridge gave a sad smile, “I wanted to marry her, but I couldn’t, it wouldn’t have been fair. She wanted a family you see, children, and I could never do that – couldn’t take the risk. By then I knew, the Thurber line had to end with me.”

“Because of your family history? With the Pickman picture?”

“Not just the picture.” Aldridge sighed. “Are you sure you want to know about all this? You’re so young.”

“Really not that young,” Kennedy told him with a grin.

“Well, younger than me,” he smiled, before turning serious again. “You could be happy. And you seem like a nice person who deserves to be happy.”

Kennedy bit her lip. “I’m not happy,” she told him honestly, “And I don’t think I ever can be unless I finish this.”

Aldridge nodded, “I listened to some more of your podcast,” he said gently, “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am for what happened to you and your friend.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you still trying to find him?”

“I am.”

“That might not be such a good idea.”

“I have to try.”

“I can understand that.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Can I see the picture?” Kennedy asked gently.

Aldridge got wearily to his feet, “Follow me,” he said.

Kennedy followed him out of the living room and up the stairs to a room like a small study. Aldridge moved a picture to reveal a built in safe in the wall, which he unlocked. He drew out a wooden box, secured with a padlock and set it on the desk. He unlocked the padlock with a small key he took from his pocket.

“There,” he told Kennedy, gesturing to the open box. “I don’t need to see it again. When you’re done, put it back in the box, lock the padlock, put the box back in the safe, close and scramble it, and put the picture back in place. I’ll be downstairs.”

“Sure,” Kennedy gave him an appreciative smile, “Thank you.”

As she heard Aldridge’s footsteps gradually moving back down the stairs, Kennedy opened the box and drew out a rolled-up piece of paper. It was smaller than she had been expecting. She carefully unrolled it and then stared at the image it revealed for a few seconds before beginning to speak.

“Wow, okay, I can see why this freaks people out. It does seem to be a photo, and it’s… it shows a – an animal, a dog maybe, but its enormous, with red eyes and claws, and this expression of – it looks so real and so ferocious?… I don’t have the words. I want to call it a monster, but that feels too small a description. It has a person, I think, in its paws, and its gnawing on them. It's beside - kind of a building. Well, the ruins of a building I guess. Like a really old structure that's pretty damaged now, but must have been something quite big and impressive. And then, behind everything, this shimmering light – the thing Aldridge described as a ‘hole in the world’, it’s like a mirror, but with a blurred image the other side of it. It reminds me… it reminds me of Pleasant Green… I’m going to take a picture on my phone. And here is the text, it says ’ _23 04 21 – 1 21, fire in the sky.’_ I’ll get a picture of that too.”

After taking pictures Kennedy rolled the picture back up and replaced it as Aldridge had told her, then she went back downstairs.

She found Aldridge sitting in the living room, staring into the distance.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He turned to look at her.

“I’m sorry I asked you to show me that, and to dig up things – your family…”

He gave her a sad smile, “It’s alright, it’s always there, always in mind. I’m just sorry to be sharing it with you. I had hoped it would all die with me, as the last one.”

“It sounds like your family has suffered a lot through all this.” Kennedy told him, sitting down again, “I – I heard something about your mother’s death…”

“You mean you heard how she did it?”

Kennedy nodded, “I’m so sorry. You were very young at the time, weren’t you?”

Aldridge nodded sadly, “Not even a year old. My poor father, he couldn’t understand why she had done it. He grieved for her for a long time… almost my entire childhood, I think.”

“That must have been tough.”

“Yes,” Aldridge took a deep breath, “Not knowing why was very hard. I suppose, for a long time, we blamed ourselves. I think my father felt that he must have let her down in some way. And for me, well, I always wondered if it was my fault – her doing that so soon after I was born. Children can have a tendency to think like that, I think, to try to find reason – and I felt like the reason. Of course, we had no idea of the truth.”

“What was the truth?”

Aldridge looked at her and suddenly his expression was filled with pain.

“Aldridge?” Kennedy said concernedly.

He took a sip of his drink and stared at the floor for a few moments. Kennedy stayed quiet, giving him the chance to prepare himself for what he had to say. Finally, he looked up and met her eyes.

Kennedy suddenly felt sick. The look in his eyes was one of pity.

“What was it?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I’m so sorry…”

“What?” her voice was barely a whisper now.

“She was like you.”

Kennedy stared at him.

“She was exactly what they needed. The perfect sacrifice for their ‘blood magic’, and she knew it. She…” Aldridge took a slightly choked breath, “She did what she did so that they couldn’t use her for their ritual. The way she did it – she made sure they wouldn’t even be able to use her body after she was dead." He looked straight at Kennedy, "My mother died to save the world, Miss Fisher.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Let me just clarify,” said Johnson, “You were ordered to assist in neutralising the threat posed to humanity by Kennedy Fisher, and particularly the possibility of her seeking out the Pickman picture or making further contact with Marsh. However, instead of doing that, you have aided Miss Fisher, to the extent that she is now in the United States of America, gaining access to the picture and meeting with a direct descendant of the Marsh family. Have I misunderstood at all?”

Mary and Parker looked at each other.

“No, I’d say that’s a pretty accurate summary, Sir,” said Parker.

“Yep,” Mary agreed. “There does seem to be a direct line of descent from Obed Marsh to Charlotte Veenstra, who was Aldridge Kemp’s grandmother.”

“Are you going to try and give me some sort of reason not to immediately dismiss both of you?” asked Johnson. “Or shall we just move straight to you clearing your desks?”

“I think we can use the situation,” Mary told him, “This could be our best chance to deal with Marsh once and for all. Whereas, we just kill Kennedy Fisher, and he’s still going to be out there, plotting and looking for a replacement.”

“And how long to do you imagine it would take him to find a replacement?”

Parker shrugged, “Who knows, Sir.”

“Indeed," said Johnson, "It may take centuries. And by that point, Mr Marsh’s activities will no longer be my concern. The removal of Kennedy Fisher is an effective and expedient temporary measure.”

“And just kick the Marsh issue down the road for someone else to deal with?” asked Mary.

“Precisely. I do understand why that may not be your preferred option, Mary. Your perspective is by necessity somewhat more ‘long term’.”

“What if it doesn’t take centuries?” asked Mary. “Chances are Kennedy Fisher isn’t the first to fit the bill, there may even be others out there right now. We at least need to try to deal with root cause of this situation. Plus, if we go now – we can also deal with the picture and Aldridge Kemp.”

"Mary," said Johnson, in his warning tone.

“And,” Mary added, ignoring him, “We’re also re-building trust with Kennedy Fisher, so if we do need to off her in the end it’ll be a piece of cake.”

“I agree with Mary, Sir,” added Parker.

“You astonish me,” replied Johnson sarcastically. “Fine. You will go to America. You will address the situation regarding the picture and Mr Kemp, and you will bring Kennedy Fisher back to the UK so we can finally put an end to this business. Do you both understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Parker replied for both of them.

Once they had left Johnson’s office, Parker took out her phone and called Kennedy, putting the call on speakerphone.

“Parker,” Kennedy’s voice was dull and lifeless.

“Kennedy Fisher, are you having fun in America? We’re coming to join you.”

“Why does your boss want to have me killed?”

Parker sighed impatiently, “For goodness sake, I thought we were past this.”

“I just need to know why.”

“Does it really matter?” asked Parker.

“It does now,” Kennedy replied. “It’s not because of what I know, is it? Or even what I might find out. It’s because of who I am – what I am. I’m a danger just by existing… Is he going to burn my body after the big truck’s done it’s bit?”

“He did mention something about cremation,” Parker replied.

“Because even dead, they could still use my body…” Kennedy's tone was one of resignation.

“Yeah, essentially,” Mary said. “Your continued existence is a danger to all of humanity because Marsh can use you to basically end the world. And our boss’s solution to this is to kill you, because, frankly – you are easy to kill, and Marsh is difficult to deal with. And our boss would rather an easy short term solution than dealing with the real issue.”

Silence.

“Kennedy?” said Parker.

A long pause.

The Kennedy said, “Margaret Thurber - Margaret Kemp was the same.”

“The same?”

“Aldridge told me. That’s why she killed herself in the way she did. So they couldn’t use her for the ritual. He said she died to save the world.”

“Makes sense,” Parker said, “Mary found a pretty clear line of descent from Marsh to Charlotte, which would have made Margaret and both Aldridges descendants of the Marsh family.”

“Also,” Mary added, “We think Charlotte was involved with Pickman – she was probably the Lottie who introduced him to the Cottingley Fairies and the idea of taking pictures of those sort of phenomena. Did you get to see the picture?”

“Yeah,” Kennedy hesitated, “It was… freaky.”

“Freaky how?” asked Parker.

“It did look like a photo. And the animal – like a dog I guess, but its face and its eyes. It was eating someone, I think. And it was by this ruined building. And there was a shimmering hole in the world – kind of like at Pleasant Green before Matt…”

“Do you have the picture?” asked Mary.

“No, Aldridge keeps it locked away in a safe – I put it back. I took a photo of it though.”

“Why didn’t you take it?” demanded Parker frustrated.

“Because he told me to lock it back up. And why would I take it?”

“Because getting the picture is the whole point of the thing,” said Parker.

“We’ll be there tomorrow.” Mary said, “We’ll get it then.”

“I’m going back to see him again tomorrow,” Kennedy said, “I can ask him to let us take it. He was wondering if it should be destroyed.”

“Ask him?” demanded Parker, “Great idea!”

“What?”

“He’s the last in the Thurber family line, Kennedy,” Mary said, “He could be very dangerous. You should stay where you are and let us handle Kemp.”

“He’s not dangerous.”

“Kennedy –”

“This whole thing killed his mother, haunted his life, kept him from marrying the woman he loved – he is not a part of this. We can trust him.”

“Oh God,” groaned Parker, “You liked him.”

"What’s wrong with that?” demanded Kennedy, "He's a sweet old man."

Parker sighed, “Shall we give you the full list of all the people you’ve liked who have turned out to be liars or psychopathic cultists – or will an abridged version do?”

“Fuck off, Parker.” Kennedy hung up the phone.

“That went well,” observed Mary dryly.

“She’s going to go back to Aldridge Kemp, isn’t she?”

“Obviously.”

“Why don’t people just do as they’re told?”

“I have been asking myself that for 400 years.”


	21. Chapter 21

Parker and Lairre hired a car when they arrived in the US the following morning. They were driving towards the hotel Kennedy was staying in, when Parker’s phone rang.

“Johnson or Kennedy?” asked Mary.

Parker glanced at the screen, “Kennedy.”

“We’re five minutes away.”

“Kennedy Fisher,” said Parker answering the call, “What –”

“Is this you?” Kennedy interrupted.

“Is what us?” called Mary.

“At Aldridge Kemp’s place? Did you get here early to 'handle him'?”

“What are you talking about?” Parker said, sounding exasperated.

“I’m outside Aldridge’s house.”

“Already?”

“The door’s open, and damaged. The lock is broken. Did you two break in here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Parker replied, “When we break into places, we don’t break locks and leave evidence. If it was us, you’d never know we were there.”

“Reassuring,” said Kennedy sarcastically. “But someone has been here.”

“We’re on our way,” Mary said, “Whatever you do don’t go inside.”

“I’m going inside.”

“She said **_don’t_** ,” said Parker frustrated.

“What if Aldridge is hurt?”

“Then he can wait until we get there.”

“No – I’m going to check it out. I’ll leave my phone on in my pocket – you two hurry up.”

“Kennedy!”

Kennedy pushed open the door and stepped into Aldridge’s house. She moved as quietly as she could along the hallway until she reached the living room. 

“Aldridge!”

He was lying face down on the floor near his chair, a small pool of blood beneath him. Kennedy dashed towards him and gently shook his shoulder, again calling his name. There was no response. She frantically searched for a pulse.

“Aldridge – Aldridge. He’s – he’s been stabbed. I think he’s dead.”

“I’m afraid so, dear,” said another voice.

Kennedy looked up sharply. There was a woman who looked to be in her early sixties standing in the doorway, accompanied by a younger man.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“We want you, dear. In just a few weeks, when the fire is in the sky, you’re going to help us open a portal to the dreamlands.”

“Oh really,” Kennedy said, “And why would I do that?”

“Because Matthew Heawood will be on the other side,” said the woman simply.

“Yeah, not going to happen,” Kennedy told her, scrambling to her feet, “I’m leaving now.”

The woman tutted. “That’s not a good idea, dear, not unless you want to end up like my poor grandson there.”

Kennedy looked down at Aldridge’s body.

“Your grandson…” she stared at the woman, “So you’re… Charlotte Veenstra? But that’s impossible – you’d be like, 120 years old!”

“One hundred and nineteen,” Charlotte corrected her calmly. “We need to have a little talk, Miss Fisher, make some arrangements for your new year. But first – you need to give us your phone.”

“No,” Kennedy backed away, looking around for a way out.

“Either you give it to us, dear, or we take it from you.”

The younger man lunged forward and grabbed Kennedy’s arm. Kennedy yelled and tried to twist away from his grasp, while kicking out at him, knocking over the table in the process. Charlotte reached out to grab Kennedy’s other arm as she flailed around, trying to strike her assailant. The man kicked one of Kennedy's legs out from underneath her and she fell backwards, hitting the upturned table with a crash. Seconds later her phone went dead.


	22. Chapter 22

“Shit!” said Parker, quickly returning the call and reaching only Kennedy’s voicemail. “Can’t you go any faster?”

“Not in a car, no,” replied Mary, who had accelerated as soon as they first heard Charlotte’s voice on Kennedy’s phone.

“Where would they take her?”

“Somewhere where the ritual would be effective – probably the location in the picture…”

“Which was a big dog and some old ruins? That hardly narrows it down.”

“She said ‘in a few weeks’ and mentioned new year – I don’t think it’s happening today. We’ll have some time to find them, and wherever they take Kennedy, and stop this before it starts.”

“Let’s hope,” said Parker. “How far now?”

“I think it’s just a couple of streets away,” Mary told her, speeding down residential streets, “Let’s hope we don’t kill anyone on the way.”

“I’d take a couple of hit and runs over the end of the world.”

“Now you’re sounding like Johns –”

“Mary, look out!”

Mary hit the brakes and they were both jolted forwards in their seats as the car came to a sudden stop. In the middle of the road, right in front of them, was Kennedy Fisher. There was a cut across her head and she was breathing heavily.

“Kennedy?” Mary and Parker leapt from their car.

“Help me,” Kennedy gasped, dropping to her knees and struggling to breath.

“You deal with her,” Parker said calmly, “I’ll check the area.” She moved quickly and quietly away from them, looking all around her.

Mary leaned down and offered her hand to Kennedy, “Come on,” she said, “Let’s get you in the car.”

* * *

About 20 minutes later Parker returned, “No sign,” she said.

Kennedy’s breathing was back under control.

“What happened?” Mary asked her.

“Aldridge is dead,” Kennedy explained shakily, “Charlotte – she’s still alive and she killed him. She was there, with a man. They wanted me to join a ritual. They knocked me down and took my phone. Charlotte started telling me things, about how the sky is going to light up and there’s going to be this powerful ritual and I’m going to be part of it. The man went somewhere – upstairs I think, and when Charlotte wasn’t expecting it I just, I pulled her to the floor and then I got up and I ran as fast as I could until you two nearly knocked me down.”

“We should check out the house,” Parker said.

“Not ideal taking Kennedy with us,” sighed Mary.

“She can stay in the car.”

They pulled up outside Aldridge’s house and Parker slipped inside, while Mary stood waiting by the car and Kennedy sat inside it.

“Nobody in here now,” Parker called, “Except for Aldridge Kemp obviously.”

“Come in with us,” Mary told Kennedy.

“Are you sure?”

“We’d look pretty stupid if someone kidnapped you from the car while we were both in there.” Parker said, disappearing back into the house.

Kennedy followed Mary inside. In the living room, she carefully picked up the broken furniture and moved it aside, her attention focussed on Aldridge’s body. “We should call the police,” she said.

“Once we’re done here,” Mary told her.

Parker came down the stairs. “There’s a safe in the study,” she said, “Open and empty.”

“That’s where he kept the picture,” Kennedy said softly.

“I told you, you should have taken it when you had the chance,” Parker said.

“And I told you that Aldridge wasn’t dangerous,” said Kennedy, her voice breaking slightly.

“You took a picture of it, right?” asked Mary.

“Yes,” Kennedy hesitated, “It was on my phone…”

“Didn’t you back up?”

“No, I – I didn’t get around to it.”

Parker rolled her eyes, “Great.”

“We’re not going to find anything else here,” said Mary, “Let’s go to the hotel, get some breakfast, and think about what we do from here.”


	23. Chapter 23

“So, all you remember of the picture is the big dog, the ruined building and the shiny hole in the sky?” Parker said, recapping hours of conversation as they sat together in Kennedy’s hotel room. “And you don’t have any idea where it was?”

“No,” sighed Kennedy, “I spent all of last night looking, when I still had the picture on my phone. If I could have found where it was, I would have.”

“And you don’t remember anything else?” asked Mary, “Any other details?”

“Not about the picture,” Kennedy said, “Sorry, it was really the animal I noticed. This big black dog with red eyes – I wondered if it might be the dog that Albert – ‘John Silence’ told me about when he was pretending to be Albert Wilmarth. The one in all the folklore tales that attacked some people in a Church once.”

“Black Shuck,” said Mary.

“Right, exactly,” Kennedy said.

“So maybe somewhere near Rendlesham,” Mary wondered aloud.

“Maybe isn’t really good enough,” sighed Parker.

“The numbers might be a clue to where,” suggested Kennedy, “It was 230421 121 and then the thing about fire in the sky. Aldridge told me before that Elliot and the first Aldridge – his uncle – thought the numbers were about the time – but that wasn’t right. So maybe they give a location somehow?”

“Mary?” asked Parker hopefully.

Mary shook her head slowly. “It doesn’t really make sense for where. A six digit number and a three digit number… Unless it’s in some kind of code. Maybe a text based one – like the Somerton Man was using. But then we’d need the text…”

“This is not good,” said Parker.

Let’s leave where,” suggested Mary, “What about when. The bit we heard sounded like it wasn’t happening immediately?”

“Yeah,” said Kennedy, “It has to be January, I think. And the ‘fire in the sky’ is the important bit for when. I have no idea what it could be though. I guess there are fireworks at new year – but it couldn’t be that could it?”

“Unlikely,” said Parker, “Multi-dimensional anomalies aren’t usually triggered by people having firework parties. Otherwise, November would be even more of a nightmare that it already is.”

“Why is November a nightmare?”

“Post-Halloween,” Mary explained, “You wouldn’t believe how many things need putting back in their boxes every bloody year.”

“What about meteors?” suggested Parker suddenly.

“What?”

“Fire in the sky – meteors?”

“Third of January,” said Mary.

“Sorry?”

“Third of January, that’s the peak of the Quadrantids meteor shower. First meteor shower of the new year.”

“It fits,” said Kennedy.

“It does,” agreed Mary.

“So, then we’re just back to where,” said Parker frustrated.

“It’s most likely to be in the UK,” Mary said, “That’s where Pickman was painting, as far as we know he never left.”

“Yes, but where?” said Parker. She turned to Kennedy. “You really can’t remember anything else about that picture?”

“No,” Kennedy groaned, answering the same question for the seventh or eighth time, “Can we please just take a break from this?”

“Let’s get a drink,” Mary suggested.

“There’s a bar downstairs,” said Parker.

“You two go,” Kennedy told them, “I just need a moment to process today.”

“Fine,” said Parker, “But keep thinking.”

Mary and Parker left and Kennedy laid on the bed for a while. Eventually she picked up her phone and made a call.

“K?”

“Hi, Slide.”

“Where are you? I thought you’d vanished too!”

“That’s not funny,” Kennedy told him, “I’m in the States. I need a favour.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve got some numbers – I need a place that they could be pointing us towards.”

“A place – do you mean a planet? Like Haumea?”

“No, absolutely not a planet. A place on Earth. Ideally in the UK somewhere.”

“Oh, okay,” Slide sounded disappointed, “Give me the numbers.”

“230421 and 121.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Slide.”

Kennedy let her phone drop from her hand on to the bed beside her and lay staring at the ceiling.


	24. Chapter 24

It took Slide around 45 minutes to call back.

“You took your time,” Kennedy said as she answered.

“Hey – this was not easy.”

“But you’ve got something for me?”

“Yeaahh, maybe,” said Slide slowly.

“Go on.”

“It’s a bit… I had to play around with it a bit.”

“It’s fine, Slide, I get it. Just tell me what you’ve got.”

“Do you know what Easting and Northing are?”

“Coordinates right? Across and up?”

“Exactly. So – you said UK. So if I put 230421 in as an easting and 121 as a northing to find a place in the UK…”

“Where is it?”

“The middle of the ocean.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So then I tried 121 as the easting and 230421 as the northing.”

“And?”

“Middle of the ocean again.”

“Right.”

“So then, I think 230421 is a 6 digit reference, maybe the other one should be too. So I put 230421 as the easting 121000 as the northing and guess what?”

“Not the middle of the ocean?”

“Nope. Devon.”

“Devon?”

“Yup, middle of nowhere, in a place called Bideford which is in Devon. Near to some trees, some fields, and a river or something called Clifford Water.”

“Clifford Water?”

“Yup. Dunno if it’s what you’re looking for or not, but it’s the best I can get from those numbers.”

“Can you send me the location?”

“Doing it now. That everything?”

“Yeah, thanks, Slide.”

Kennedy pulled out her laptop, opened google maps and took a look at the different views of the location Slide has sent to her.

It was a few hours before Mary and Parker re-appeared.

"We're going back to the UK," Parker announced as they let themselves back into Kennedy's room, Parker having taken the keycard with her when they left.

“I might have something,” Kennedy said.

“What?” asked Mary.

“It’s a place in Devon, if you use 230421 and 121 – but as a six digit number, so 121000 – as easting and northing you get a place in Bideford in Devon, near to Clifford Water. Could that be it? Maybe there’s something there. Just, thinking about it - I think there might have been water in the picture, like sort of connected to the gap somehow – like the water was flowing away from it, or maybe towards it I guess, and shimmering in the same way, almost like a mirror.”

“You didn’t mention water before,” said Parker.

“I suppose I didn’t really think of it as a separate thing, not until Clifford Water came up.”

“Mary,” Parker turned to her partner, “What do you think? Could it be that?”

“It could be. There is a lot of folklore connected with the waters in the area around Torridge." Mary leaned over to look at the map on Kennedy's computer. "The location would fall between the rivers Tamar, Torridge and Tavy, which have this old folklore story about their origin.”

Parker pretended to supress a yawn.

“The story is that Tamar was once a sort of nymph, called Tamara, who lived in the underworld with her parents," continued Mary. "Her father lost his temper when she refused to return to the underworld and cast a spell turning her into a river. Torridge and Tavy were the two giants who loved her and chose to be transformed into rivers themselves, so that they could follow her and be reunited. Tavy succeeded, and the rivers of Tavy and Tamar merge, but Torridge took a wrong turn and headed north, separated from his love forever.”

“Is that true?” asked Kennedy, bewildered.

Mary shrugged, “It’s the story. Who knows what’s true. But it is certainly the case that the waters in that area have magical connections, so it wouldn’t be surprising to find Nyarlathotep had tried to make use of their power at some point.”

“So, it sounds like Devon?” asked Parker.

“Yeah, as a best guess,” agreed Mary. “The numbers fit, and the magical folklore of the area seems to work with what Kennedy saw in the picture – is that right, Kennedy?”

“Yes,” Kennedy sounded more certain now, “I think it definitely does. The more I think about it the more I realise the shining strands coming off the – the…”

“Portal?” suggested Mary.

“Yeah, I guess – portal… it was water – thin streams making their way out into the countryside.”

“Okay,” said Parker slowly, “Devon in January then. For now, we have a flight back to the UK.” 


	25. Chapter 25

Mary, Parker and Kennedy stood together in the airport, shortly after landing back in the UK, when Mary’s phone rang. She glanced at.

“Guess who?” she said to Parker.

“Johnson?”

Mary answered the phone on speaker.

“This is Lairre.”

“Mary, it would appear that you and Parker are back in England?” said Johnson’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Successful trip?”

“Fairly.”

“Mr Kemp and the picture?”

“Dead and gone.”

“Gone meaning destroyed?”

“Gone meaning missing.”

“Ah,” said Johnson, “Not ideal. Fortunately, I have Reed on standby. Where is Miss Fisher?”

“Here,” said Kennedy, unable to resist.

“Mary,” said Johnson sternly.

Mary rolled her eyes, but took the call off speakerphone and moved away.

“He’s your boss?” Kennedy asked Parker.

“That’s him.”

“He sounds great,” said Kennedy sarcastically.

“Oh, he’s a delight.”

Kennedy chuckled, then suddenly became serious. “He still wants to kill me, doesn’t he?”

“I expect so.”

“Am I going to die as soon as I step out of this airport?”

“Don’t know,” replied Parker thoughtfully, “It probably depends on how his call with Mary goes. He does actually listen to her occasionally.”

A few feet away Mary had quickly filled Johnson in on what they had learned and was trying to him Johnson of their plan.

“We’re better informed than we have ever been,” she said, “We think we know where, when, who – we know they want Kennedy – this is our best chance to stop Marsh properly.”

“I understand that Mary. And I am willing to greenlight a two stage plan. Firstly, Miss Fisher will be terminated, as a matter of urgency. Then in January you and Parker can take a little trip down to the South West and look for Marsh.”

“If we kill Kennedy now, they’ll know we’re on to them. And they’ll have lost a key component of their ritual. They might even cancel the whole thing, and then we’re back to square one with no clue of what they’re doing. And, if Margaret Thurber was a suitable sacrifice, that suggests it might not be a matter of centuries until there is another one. It might be just a few decades.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Kennedy goes home, we keep an eye on her, and anyone who might try to approach her. In January we head down to disrupt the ritual, and leave a team staking out Kennedy’s place in case they try to move in and kidnap her.”

“And Miss Fisher joins you on your Devonshire excursion?”

“Absolutely not – we can’t risk her getting close to that.”

“My concern, Mary, is that this plan is motivated by a desire to keep Miss Fisher alive, rather than to address the Obed Marsh situation.”

“That’s not the case. This has to be the best plan for getting Marsh – Kennedy Fisher is bait.”

“I see. Well, we both know what normally happens to the bait, don’t we?”

“We do.”

“Very well, it seems that Miss Fisher has a temporary reprieve, and we will deal with Marsh first. However, the Kennedy Fisher problem will still have to be addressed, Mary.”

“I know that, Sir.”

“Good. Well, I suggest that you encourage Miss Fisher to make the most of her Christmas.”

The call ended, Mary put the phone in her pocket and turned back to Kennedy and Parker.

“Well,” said Kennedy, only half-joking, “Am I safe to go outside?”

“For now,” Mary told her. “Enjoy your Christmas. We’re off to Devon in January.”


	26. Chapter 26 - Christmas 2020

Kennedy picked up her phone and sighed at yet another text message wishing her a happy Christmas and a much happier new year. Both seemed highly unlikely.

Mary had told her to enjoy Christmas in a tone that made Kennedy think Mary already knew that things were not going to go well in January. She still found it weird talking to Mary. She missed Eleanor Peck’s disbelieving laughter and the reassuringly dismissive way that she described all the craziness as ‘bollocks’. Without Eleanor and, most of all, without Matt, Kennedy felt like her grip on reality was slipping away. And how can you connect with a world that doesn’t feel real anymore?

She sank down on to her sofa and reached for a glass of wine and her voice recorder. She hadn’t recorded any audio in weeks, but now she felt she had to say something.

“Hi, Matt, it’s me. I haven’t recorded anything since we got back from the States. I haven’t really had anything to say, I’ve just been sitting here, waiting. Parker and Mary haven’t been in touch, but we have a meeting place for January. I’m pretty sure they’re keeping an eye on me – the little flat directly opposite me has been taken and seems to be occupied on some kind of rotation between three men and two women – which doesn’t fit so well with covid rules. We’re in ‘tier 4’ in London, a bit like a mini lockdown – lots of places are closed and we aren’t really allowed to meet people. I don’t mind, I really didn’t want to see anyone anyway.

There isn’t too long to go now. It all happens in January, my plan’s all ready, and I will get you back somehow, I swear. So, wherever you are right now, Matt, please be ready, be waiting for your chance to come back, because it is coming. I am coming for you, I promise. I promise. And if it works,” Kennedy hesitated, “If you do ever get to hear this, please, please forgive me.” She paused and then raised her glass, “Happy Christmas, Matt,” she murmured softly.

Her phone rang. Kennedy stopped the recording and answered it.

“Hello?”

“K, you okay?”

“Hi, Slide,” she paused, “How’s your Christmas?”

“Alright. What’s going on, K? What happened with that Devon thing?”

“It hasn’t happened yet – it’s happening in January.”

“You going there?”

“That’s the plan. Look, I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure.”

“If I don’t come back, and Matt does – there’s some audio on my recorder. He needs to hear it. Tell him, yeah?”

“Why wouldn’t you come back?”

“Because of all this weird shit, Slide. Because really who the fuck knows what’s going to happen and who’s coming back.”

“Gotcha.”

“So you’ll tell him?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks, Slide. Really, thanks for everything.”

“No problem. Look after yourself, K, yeah?”

“I’ll try. Gotta go, Slide. Got some reading to do.”

“Okay, have a good one.”

“See you, Slide.”

Kennedy hung up the phone, picked up a book and flicked idly through its pages. She wasn’t really interested in the book; she wasn’t really interested in anything anymore. She was just killing time until January. But since a book buying spree had been necessary, she thought she might as well look at some of them.

* * *

After a busy couple of weeks, culminating in spending Christmas trying to dissuade pixies from continuing a spate of destructive house-breakings in Hampshire, Parker and Mary returned to the Department to file their reports.

“This is why I would never have a cat,” Mary said, “Cat flaps are an open invitation to pixies.”

“And in December,” added Parker, “They really do like Christmas trees, don’t they?”

“Perfect place to hide.”

“What I don’t understand,” sighed Parker, “Is why people are so much more willing to believe poltergeists that pixies.”

“People have this perception of pixies as tiny and cute and not that destructive,” said Mary, “So they think they’re for children. Whereas it’s okay for adults to be scared of ghost stories. It didn’t used to be like this – pixies used to be taken seriously until maybe the early 19th century, and now everyone just things of them as mischievous rather than dangerous. Essentially, pixies have had much better PR than ghosts over the last couple of hundred years.”

“You should get on that,” said Parker, “Maybe arrange some public information films, get a twitter account…”

Mary glared at her.

“I think the more interesting question,” Mary said, “Is why were pixies breaking into houses in Hampshire?”

“Not the traditional home of the pixie.”

“Exactly,” said Mary, “Official view is that it’s the impact of the lockdown, combination of the roads being quieter encouraging them to stray outside their usual area, plus more people at home all the time means fewer empty houses to target.”

“Which is plausible,” said Parker.

“It is.”

“But it could also be that the pixies know they need to get out of the South West.”

“If I thought Azathoth was about to arrive in my back yard, I’d be moving on.”

Parker picked up a file on her desk, “Latest reports on the Kennedy Fisher observation,” she said.

“And?”

Parker flicked through the pages. “Nothing. She’s become very boring,” she said disappointedly. “Barely left the house apart from a couple of visits to the supermarket. She’s spending Christmas alone. Nobody has visited her, nobody has approached her when she’s been out, nobody is watching her except us.”

“Seriously? There’s nothing?”

Parker flicked glanced down at the last page, “She’s ordered quite a lot of books. She may be buying a little too much wine…”

“I think that’s probably forgivable in the circumstances. Any interesting books?”

“Just a weird range, a few generic folklore, some history, a couple of books on the law, some fiction and two poetry anthologies.”

Mary leaned over to look at the titles of the folklore books, “They don’t tell us much.”

“No. I really thought they’d try to get to her as soon as possible,” mused Parker.

“Maybe they’re just planning to grab her in January – means they don’t have to hold her anywhere for long. Do you think she’ll manage making her own way to the rendezvous?”

“Probably,” shrugged Parker, “As long as the distraction works. And it’s better than them seeing us picking her up.”

“And if they do get her, at least we know where they’re heading.”

Parker closed the file and left it on her desk. “Are we done?”

“We are,” said Mary, “Drink? The pubs are all closed, but I think Geoff muttered something about some socially-distanced mulled wine earlier.”


	27. Chapter 27 - 3rd January 2021

On the morning of 3rd January 2021 Kennedy Fisher stood by the door of her flat, bag in her hand and waited. From somewhere on the street outside she heard a vehicle sounding its horn three times. Immediately she pulled her bag onto her shoulders and left, walking quickly. As she reached the street there was the sound of a crash followed by shouting.

The tall blond man from the flat opposite had crashed his car dramatically into the car driven by the red-haired woman, who also frequented the flat opposite. The pair were now arguing furiously in the street, getting the attention of the small number of people in the area. Kennedy crossed the street, looking back over her shoulder, pretending that she was also focussed on the incident taking place down the road. As she reached the corner, she glanced back one last time. One of the cars involved in the collision suddenly caught fire, and in the same instant a black cab stopped beside Kennedy. She pulled open the door and leapt in. The cab sped away.

“Are we okay?” Kennedy asked the driver.

He glanced in his mirrors, “Looks like it. You know the rest of the plan?”

“I’m ready.”

“No phone?”

“Left it at home.”

“Good.”

The cab drove around for over 2 hours before beginning to slow along a road near to a train station.

“Ready?” the cab driver asked.

“Ready.” Kennedy replied.

As they approached the train station Kennedy leapt from the cab and raced up the steps into the station. The cab driver continued along the road, barely reacting to Kennedy’s departure.

Kennedy bought a train ticket and entered the station, but rather than waiting on one of the platforms or boarding a train, she crossed over the bridge connecting the different platforms and left the station by a second exit. She immediately leapt into a waiting car.

The next journey took around 3 hours, and ended near some woodland.

“We’re clear,” the driver said as they approached, “Almost here.”

Kennedy unzipped her bag and pulled out a dark blue coat and a smaller rucksack. She took off the coat she was wearing and replaced it with the dark blue one, pulling the hood up over her head. As the car slowed, she leapt out, taking the smaller rucksack with her, and leaving her original coat and bag in the car. Again, the driver did not acknowledge her departure and kept driving.

Kennedy began to walk through the wood, occasionally glancing around her, but there weren’t too many people about and nobody seemed to be particularly interested in her. She headed south-east, passing through areas thick with trees, and then eventually stopped, just within sight of a small road. She found a tree stump and sat down, looking around every few minutes. It was already mid-afternoon, and as she sat waiting the light started to fade.

Eventually a car pulled up and Mary and Parker emerged from it. Kennedy got up and walked down to meet them.

“Hi,” she called as she approached.

“Kennedy Fisher,” said Parker, turning to look at her.

“Hi, Kennedy,” said Mary, “Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so – the cars worked as planned and then I changed outfit for the walk.”

“You’re sure nobody followed you?”

“Sure as I can be. And honestly, I don’t think anyone was even watching me to start with – assuming the people in the flat opposite were your people.”

"You noticed them?"

"They weren't very subtle."

“And you didn’t bring your phone?” asked Parker.

“No.” Kennedy said.

“Good.”

“I need more details about what the plan is and what I should do.” Kennedy said, “I get that you want to stop Marsh, but we also need to think about how we get Matt back.”

Parker and Mary shared a look.

“Are you giving up on him?” Kennedy asked, “Cause I’m not.”

As they stood together another car pulled up.

Kennedy turned to look, “Who’s that?”

“Your driver,” Parker replied.

“We’re not travelling together?”

Parker and Mary said nothing.

Kennedy looked at them, “I’m not going at all, am I?” she said slowly, “You’re not going to let me anywhere near the ritual…”

“It would be far too dangerous to take you to Devon,” said Mary.

“Mary and I will do what needs to be done.” Parker added.

Kennedy nodded slowly, “I get it,” she said. “But what about Matt?”

Another silence.

“Well?”

“If there’s anything we can do for him, we’ll do it.” Mary told her.

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” said Parker.

Someone had got out of the other car and was walking towards them.

Kennedy sighed, “So, whose taking me home?”

“Hello, Kennedy,” said John Silence’s voice through the darkness.

“Seriously,” Kennedy said, turning to Parker, “There was no one else available?”

Parker shrugged, “I had to pick someone I trust. It’s not a wide selection.”

“I can find my own way home, thanks.”

“You’re not going home,” said Parker.

“Really. So where am I going? Under a truck?”

“No,” said Parker, in a tone that suggested Kennedy should really know this already, “You’re going somewhere safe.”

“Somewhere safe?”

“We can’t risk Charlotte or Obed Marsh finding you and coercing you into the ritual,” Mary explained, “We need to know you’re somewhere secure until the situation is over.”

“We need to go,” Parker said.

“Us too,” said John Silence, “Come on, Kennedy.”

Kennedy glared at him, but then turned to follow him towards his car, whilst Parker and Mary went to theirs. Suddenly Kennedy stopped, turned and called out, “Mary?”

While Parker gave an exaggerated sigh and got into the car, Mary took a few steps back towards Kennedy.

“I have something for you,” Kennedy told her, fumbling in her bag and pulling out a heavy, rectangular object wrapped in Christmas paper.

Mary stared at it for a moment, “What is it?”

“A gift,” said Kennedy sarcastically, then her voice softened, “Something to remind you of your life as an academic, back when I think you actually cared about what happened to Matt. I want you to open it tonight, when you get there.”

Mary took it, “If I can help him I will.”

“But you think you can’t,” Kennedy said bitterly, “So you won’t.” She turned and stalked over to the car where John Silence was waiting.

As Kennedy got into the car with John Silence, Mary returned to Parker and her car. She climbed into the driver’s seat and tossed Kennedy’s gift through on to the back seat.

“What’s that?” demanded Parker as Mary started the engine and began their long drive to Devon.

“A gift apparently – from Kennedy.”

“She gave you a gift? Why didn’t I get a gift?”

Mary shrugged, “Maybe she prefers me.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Parker said dismissively, “Kennedy Fisher is mine. Heawood was yours. Why would she give you a gift and not me?”

“Seriously?” Mary sighed, “She said it was to make me remember Matt. Can we focus on the important thing here? Crazy immortals trying to orchestrate the return of Azathoth?”

Parker sighed and turned her attention back to the matter in hand. “Fine. So we’re assuming the ritual will be tonight, because that’s when the meteor will be most visible…”

“And because they **_always_** do rituals at night,” added Mary, “Almost like they’d see how ridiculous they look if they do it in daylight.”

“Right,” agreed Parker. “Do you think it will just be Charlotte and Obed Marsh?”

“I think there’ll be one more – three is quite a significant number for witchcraft and rituals, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Which they obviously do. Any idea on the third person?”

Mary shook her head, “All of the main suspects are dead I think…”

“Unless Daisy or Melody somehow got out of Pleasant Green.”

“They didn’t.”

Parker looked at her.

“I was there, remember, as Eleanor Peck. The village disappeared and the only person I saw was Kennedy.”

“Obed Marsh got away.”

“Well, he’s clearly got some serious magic going on. But I don’t think the others made it. Kennedy or I would have noticed – we were looking out for Matt remember.”


	28. Chapter 28

Kennedy glared at John Silence as he drove her away “Where are you taking me?”

“A safe house.”

“Where?”

“We don’t say where it is – that’s what makes it a safe house.”

“And I’m just supposed to trust you? After you gaslit me for ages, and then ran off and did nothing while some crazy cult was trying to use me in a ritual and taking my best friend to goodness knows where?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, you’re just supposed to trust me.”

“No,” Kennedy said.

“You seem to have forgiven Parker.”

“Parker…” Kennedy tried to find the words, “Parker is sort of honestly deceitful, I never really trusted her in the first place.”

“Whereas you liked and trusted Albert Wilmarth.”

Kennedy glared at him, “You’re an arsehole.”

John continued to drive without responding.

“You know what,” Kennedy said suddenly. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Stop the car. I want to go home.”

“Can’t let you do that, I’m afraid.”

“You can’t just take me against my will.”

Kennedy reached for the handle and tried to open the door, it wouldn’t work. She shook it frantically.

“Sorry, Kennedy,” John Silence told her. “You’re staying with me.”

* * *

“It still feels wrong,” mused Parker as they sped along the A303.

“What does?”

“There hasn’t been a traitor. Narratively, I really should have been betrayed…”

“There have been loads of traitors. Like you said to Kennedy – it’s basically been wall to wall liars and psychopathic cultists for the past three years.”

“Yeah,” said Parker, unconvinced, “But some of those were our liars. And nobody’s really deceived me.”

“You sound like you want them to.”

“Of course I don’t. But we seem to be heading towards the conclusion now, and it would be better going into that situation knowing we’d already identified the traitor.”

Jasper was a traitor.”

“Yeah, but only to Matthew Heawood. I didn’t trust him; I barely even knew he existed. He didn’t betray me.”

“Well, maybe not everything is your story. Maybe this one is Matt’s.”

“It can’t be,” protested Parker, “He’s not even in it.”

“He was. He’s still a driving force. Maybe he’s about to make a comeback.”

Parker glanced at her, “Yeah…” she said, “So while we’re on the subject, about the Matt situation?”

“I want to try.” Mary said calmly.

“Johnson said not to.”

“And we always do what Johnson says?” scoffed Mary, “He’s not even here.”

“Fine,” said Parker, “But just so you know – I am not ending the world for Matthew Heawood, no matter how much you like him.”


	29. Chapter 29

John Silence stopped the car outside a large, creepy looking house at the end a long driveway. Kennedy stared up at it.

“Seriously? This is your ‘safe house’?”

“Yep.”

“It looks like the setting for a horror movie.”

“What can I say,” shrugged John Silence, “The Department has a certain fondness for the gothic.”

Kennedy followed him into the house. “Is anyone else here?” she asked.

“Just us,” John said, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Kennedy glared at him.

“I need to let them know we’ve arrived.” John produced his phone and hit speed dial. “At the safe house,” he said, and then ended the call. “Tea?”

“No, I think I’ll take a look around,” Kennedy replied, turning away from him.

“Suit yourself.” John told her, making his way to the kitchen while Kennedy wandered about in the rest of the house.

John made himself a cup of tea and took a seat in the living room. He heard Kennedy come back down the stairs and move through to the kitchen. She was clattering about, maybe making herself a drink, or looking for something to eat. “There’s food in the fridge,” he shouted.

There was no reply.

John sighed and continued drinking his tea.

Suddenly Kennedy screamed.

* * *

Obed Marsh and Charlotte Veenstra were sitting impatiently in a car. Charlotte glanced occasionally at the phone in her hand.

“Do we have a location?” asked Obed Marsh.

“Not yet,” Charlotte replied, “Give it time.”

“Kennedy Fisher is crucial for tonight’s ritual.”

“I’m aware of that. Trust me, we will have her soon.”

“I hope you’re right about this.”

A few minutes later Charlotte’s phone buzzed. She looked at it and smiled.

“We have an address,” she told Obed, “Oh look at that, very gothic.”


	30. Chapter 30

Mary and Parker arrived at a small cottage in Devon, a short distance from the location Slide and Kennedy had identified. The Department had made certain arrangements to ensure that the cottage would be vacant and available for them.

Once inside Parker nodded to the gift from Kennedy.

“Are you going to open that?”

Mary picked it up, “it’s a book,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Because it feels like one. And because she wanted it to remind me of being an academic. She thinks I cared about Matt when I was Eleanor.”

“Maybe she thinks that because you did.”

“Or maybe she took the bollocks you were talking seriously.”

“I bet it’s one of those folklore books she ordered over Christmas.”

Mary ripped the paper from the gift and discovered that it was indeed a book. Parker leaned over to look at the title.

“The Treatise on the Laws and Customs of the Realm of England Commonly Called Glanvill,” she read aloud, sounding confused. “Why would she give you that? It’s not very Eleanor is it? I can’t imagine there’s a lot of folklore and mythology in there.”

“No, not really, certainly not compared to some of the others she bought.” Mary agreed, “No idea why she thought it would make me think of Eleanor or Matt.”

“Weird,” said Parker. “Maybe she thought you’d already have read all the folklore books.”

“This book does have a history of course,” said Mary slowly, turning the book over in her hands. “The original version dates back to the twelfth century…”

“Is this going to be a long one?” interrupted Parker, “Should I sit down, maybe get a drink, find something interesting to distract me…”

“It was attributed to Ranulf de Glanvill, who wrote it in the 12th century,” continued Mary, ignoring Parker, “And then it was first published in the 16th. After that came edited, translated, updated versions – like this one. Ranulf de Glanvill was quite an interesting figure, historically speaking. He was quite close to Henry II and was a custodian of Queen Eleanor…”

“Eleanor – is that what she thought would get your attention?”

“The fact that a 12th century queen had the same name as my cover isn’t really filling me with a desire to return to academic life and rescue Matt Heawood whatever the consequences for the rest of humanity.”

“Yeah,” said Parker slowly. “But there has to be a reason for you to get a gift instead of me though." She took a deep breath, "I’m obviously going to regret saying this… but tell me more about this Glanvill guy and the book.”

“Ranulf de Glanvill was from Suffolk, which might be interesting I guess. He founded Leiston Abbey there – originally on marshland, but they had to move it later because of flooding.”

“Is it still there?”

“Not intact, but the ruins are - we got dragged into something there a few years ago actually. They did some excavations and found the bones of a large dog – some local media tried to claim it was Black Shuck and we had to take a look, put a lid on things…” Mary froze.

“A big dog?” said Parker, “And ruins?”

“Bollocks,” said Mary, “Call John.”

Parker pulled out her phone and called John Silence. “No answer. Is there water there, by the Abbey?”

“It’s not a million miles from the coast,” Mary answered, “But I don’t think that’s the point.”

“She only mentioned the water after she’d identified Clifford Water as a possibility.”

“Exactly.”

“Shit, it’s her isn’t it?” Parker said, “My traitor – it’s Kennedy bloody Fisher.”

“She always knew we wouldn’t let her get near the ritual. So, she sent us to Devon.”

“But it’s not happening here is it?”

“No.”

“It’s happening in Suffolk.”

“At Leiston Abbey.”

“And we are how many miles away?”

“About 300.”

“Shit,” repeated Parker.

They both ran for the car.


	31. Chapter 31

John Silence leapt up and ran towards the sound of Kennedy’s scream. He couldn’t see her anywhere, but he found the door to the cellar hanging open.

“Kennedy?” he called down the stairs into the darkness. There was no response.

He reached for the light switch and pressed down but the light didn’t come on. John produced a torch and shone the light down into the cellar. He couldn’t see anything.

“Kennedy?” he said again.

No reply.

Cautiously he began to move slowly down the stairs, shining the torch around as he went. Suddenly he heard the bang of the door being slammed shut behind him and the bolt being slid across. He ran back up the stairs and pushed at the heavy door but to no avail.

“Who’s there!” he yelled, “Open the door.”

“Sorry, John,” Kennedy’s voice from the other side was cold and calm.

“Kennedy – what are you doing?” He rattled the handle, “Open this door.”

“It’s for the best,” Kennedy told him, in that calm, dispassionate tone, “It’s either this or Obed and Charlotte kill you.”

“You’re working with them now?” John’s voice was full of disbelief.

“I decided maybe it’s time I take control,” Kennedy told him, “Stop being lied to and pushed around by you, the Department, everyone, and try doing things my way.”

“Kennedy –”

“Goodbye, John.”

Kennedy walked away from the cellar door and straight out of the house. A car pulled into the driveway and Kennedy strode over, opened the door and climbed in.

“Hello, dear,” said Charlotte.

Kennedy didn’t reply.

“The man who was with you…” began Obed.

“I dealt with him.” Kennedy said firmly. “Let’s just do this.”

The car pulled away. Kennedy gazed out of the window, ignoring the other occupants of the car.

“What did you do with your other friends from the Department of Works, dear?” asked Charlotte, “They looked to be disappearing off in quite the wrong direction.”

“I found an excuse to send them to Devon.”

“Devon!” Charlotte laughed, “Excellent.”

“It seems you have quite a talent for this, Miss Fisher,” said Obed Marsh.

Kennedy didn’t reply.

“She needs to be prepared for this evening,” Marsh said

“Yes, of course.” Charlotte pulled out an old, battered looking book.

“What’s that?” Kennedy asked, glancing at it.

“It’s a copy of the Necronomicon, dear,” smiled Charlotte, flicking through the pages, “We need to make sure you are word perfect for tonight.”

Kennedy clenched her fist beside her and swallowed her anxiety. “Okay,” she said, “What do I have to say?”

As the car sped towards the Suffolk countryside, Charlotte taught Kennedy the language of the ritual.


	32. Chapter 32

As Mary and Parker approached they could see lights in the sky around the ruins of Leiston Abbey.

“That’s not the meteor shower is it?” said Parker.

“Nope. Far too dramatic.”

“Damn! Are we too late? We’re never too late.”

“Well, the world’s still here – the Abbey’s still here, so hopefully it’s not over yet.”

They crept towards Leiston Abbey as quickly and as quietly as possible. Three figures were standing amongst the ruins, chanting, between them a shining space was forming in the air, a tear in the fabric of reality.

“Oh shit,” said Parker wearily.

“You deal with them,” Mary said, “But give me a bit of a distraction first.”

“Mary, this is a bad idea.”

“I know, but let’s try it anyway.” Mary got to her feet, “Give me a couple of minutes if you can.” She darted away from Parker and into the darkness.

Parker gave a sigh of exasperation, got to her feet and strode towards the trio taking part in the ritual.

“Right,” she sighed as she came within range, “Fun as this looks, it’s time to stop now.”

“You can’t stop us,” Charlotte shrieked, returning to chanting even louder.

“Really?” said Parker in a bored tone, “You actually think three of you having a sing song in a field is a serious issue?”

She was close now. To her right stood Kennedy. She hadn’t even glanced at Parker, or made any acknowledgment that she was there, she just kept chanting.

“Kennedy Fisher,” Parker said, “What **_are_** you doing?”

Kennedy didn’t reply.

Parker turned to her and shook her head, “After everything. Honestly, I should kill you right now, and stop this nonsense.”

“If you value your life, you should be getting as far from here as you can,” Obed’s tone was triumphant.

“No,” Parker told him wearily, stepping ever closer, “You’re the one who needs to be running now.”

Charlotte gave a shriek of laughter.

Obed muttered something under his breath and suddenly a creature emerged from the portal. It was an enormous black dog, with red eyes, sharp teeth and an air of menace. The four people stood around the portal stared at the dog, and in that instant Parker was suddenly aware of a shadowy figure moving towards the portal.

“Nice dog,” she said, locking eyes with Obed Marsh, “I prefer a cockapoo myself.”

“Last chance,” Obed growled.

Parker stood her ground and Obed roared something. The ferocious dog leapt towards Parker. Parker took a step back and stumbled. In the same instant Kennedy stepped sideways to put herself between Parker and the dog, so Parker let herself fall, hitting the ground with a thud. The dog stopped moving and stood as though frozen in front of Kennedy. Kennedy kept chanting. Parker remained completely still on the ground. The portal grew larger and brighter.

“Kennedy Fisher,” murmured Parker quietly but firmly. “You listen to me now.”

Kennedy continued chanting, focussed on the portal, with no indication she had heard Parker.

“I should kill you here and now, I really, really should. But right now, I’m going to take a chance and trust that you gave Mary that book for a reason. And not just to piss me off, because where was my gift? I’m going to assume you have had a momentary loss of sanity, but you don’t really want to end the world. And so, when the time is right, I’m going to tell you, and then you stop chanting. Do you hear me, Kennedy Fisher? You stop chanting, you grab Charlotte, and you get her as close to that portal as you can.”

Kennedy didn’t respond. She just kept chanting.

As silently as she could, Parker began to move slowly, carefully changing her position from lying sprawled on the ground as she had fallen to a crouch, poised and ready. “Come on, Mary,” she said under her breath, “We’re almost out of time.” 

Suddenly Parker saw another flash of black and white somewhere at the edge of the blindingly bright light being emitted by the portal.

“Now, Kennedy, STOP!” Parker yelled as she leapt to her feet and threw herself towards Obed Marsh.

Kennedy seemed to hesitate just for a second and then she stopped chanting and lunged at Charlotte.

Parker pushed Obed Marsh towards the portal, determinedly reciting a sealing spell. Obed and Charlotte continued chanting, louder and louder. Parker heard a growl and felt the warm breath of the monstrous dog on her neck. She looked around.

Beside her Kennedy was struggling with Charlotte, pushing her closer and closer to the opening. Charlotte stumbled and fell, pulling Kennedy down with her, but breaking her focus on the ritual, stopping chanting for just a moment.

Parker glanced down, locked eyes with Kennedy, and was relieved to see her understanding. As Obed Marsh directed the dog at Parker, Kennedy lunged up from the ground and gave him a firm shove, sending him staggering slightly back towards the portal and momentarily breaking his connection with the animal.

Parker lunged after him, feeling the dog, back under Marsh’s control, and ever closer behind her. Finally, Parker threw herself at Marsh, putting all of her strength into a final push which sent him toppling backwards and through the portal to the dreamlands.

Kennedy stared as the portal became suddenly indescribably loud and bright. She felt her ears pounding, her eyes unable to focus, pain filling all her senses. She was vaguely aware of Obed, Charlotte, Parker and the dog all sucked inexorably towards the portal. “Parker!” she yelled.

She saw something blurry moving about in the blinding light, a figure in black and white. Suddenly a hand in a black sleeve grabbed Parker’s wrist, the noise and light became unbearable, and then in an instant there was just darkness and deafening silence, and Kennedy found herself lying on the grass dazed.


	33. Chapter 33

Kennedy tried to look around in the dim light of the early hours, swallowing the terrified feeling that it had happened again. That she had been the cause of it again. She could feel her eyes watering and panic rising in her chest.

Then she saw a bright light and looked up blinking. Parker had turned on the torch on her phone, the light partly illuminating her, partly making it impossible to look directly at her.

“Parker.” Kennedy gasped in relief, sitting up.

Beside Parker stood Mary… in costume.

“Why are you dressed as a nun?” Kennedy demanded, the shock of the events somehow punctuated by the absurdity of that outfit.

“Ah,” said Mary awkwardly.

“You’re not named after a ghost, are you?” Kennedy realised slowly. "You are the ghost?"

“I am, yes.”

Kennedy put her head in her hands.

“Kennedy,” Parker said softly, her tone far gentler than Kennedy had ever heard from her.

Kennedy looked up. Parker was nodding towards something over Kennedy’s left shoulder, directing the light from her phone the same way. Kennedy turned and gasped. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see the blurry form of Matthew Heawood through her tears. He was just standing there, staring at them, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Matt?” she cried out.

“Kennedy!” he said.

Kennedy leapt to her feet and flung herself at him, ready to wrap her arms around his neck, and then stumbled to the ground as her arms went straight through him.

She looked up startled. “What?” she gasped.

Matt was staring down at her, and his own arms, an expression of complete bafflement on his face.

“I don’t understand,” he said, “What? How...?”

“No,” moaned Kennedy. She wiped her eyes frantically, but Matt was still blurry. She looked back to Parker and Mary as they approached slowly, “Please,” she said, fresh tears beginning to fall, “Please, no, please.”

“What’s going on?” asked Matt fearfully.

“You’re dead, Mr Heawood,” said Parker calmly.

“What – what are you talking about?” 

“I’m sorry, Matt,” said Mary gently. “It seems that it's not possible to come back from the dreamlands alive.”

“But – but, Eleanor,” Matt’s voice sounded desperate, “I’m right here. I’m alive. And you’re here, you’re alive.”

Mary shook her head sadly, “No, Matt,” she said, “I'm sorry. Neither of us are alive.”

“Do something,” Kennedy said desperately, “Please, do something – help him.”

Parker shook her head. “We can’t resurrect the dead, Kennedy.”


	34. Chapter 34

They stood together in the dim light. Kennedy was crying quietly, staring desperately at Matt’s vague outline. Matt was looking in shocked disbelief from Parker, to Mary, to Kennedy, to his own body, and back to them.

Parker turned her phone round to glance at the time. “We should get going,” she said , “It will be light soon.”

“Sunrise isn’t until 8:03,” Mary said mechanically.

“Still…” said Parker.

“Not yet.” Mary produced a pen and paper from within her habit and scribbled something. She then took out a watch. She held out the watch and paper to the ghost of Matthew Heawood.

“Concentrate,” she told him, “And take these.”

Parker looked at her, “No, Mary, this is not a good idea.”

“Take them,” Mary repeated.

Matt just stared at her.

“Do it, Matt,” said Kennedy, suddenly hopeful, “Please – do what she says.”

After a couple of attempts Matt took the watch and paper.

“When I give you a sign,” Mary told him, “Read the words from the paper.” She looked to Parker. “I need your help.”

Parker looked doubtful.

“Please, Parker,” begged Kennedy, “Please do this.”

Parker sighed heavily, and then nodded to Mary.

Mary and Parker began to mutter words that neither of the other two could recognise. After they had muttered a few sentences Mary pointed at Matthew and he read the words from the paper in a shaky voice.

As Kennedy watched them, the image of Matt seemed to become clearer, as though she was seeing him through a blurred lens gradually coming into focus. Finally, the other three finished speaking.

“What was that?” asked Matt. “What happened?”

“We transferred wards to you,” Mary told him, “You have corporeal form now.”

Kennedy reached out to Matt and they hugged each other tightly. She clung to him, relieved by the physicality of his existence.

When they finally stepped apart, Matt asked Mary, “What do you mean – ‘corporeal form’? Am I alive now?”

“You’re still a ghost,” Mary told him, “But now you have physical form again.”

Matt just stared at her.

“What about you?” Kennedy asked.

“I’ll have to see the quartermaster when we get back to the Department,” Mary replied, “See if I can get some new wards.”

“The Department?” asked Matt, “You mean the Department of Works? I don’t understand… Eleanor?”

Kennedy smiled at him gently, taking his hand and drawing his attention, “Eleanor was her cover story, Matt, although she got a bit lost in her. Her name is Mary, she works for the Department with Parker. And it seems she’s actually the ghost of a dead nun from centuries ago.”

Matt stared at Kennedy.

“Don’t worry, Mr Heawood,” said Parker, “You’ll catch up eventually.”

“You’re a ghost?” Matt asked Mary.

Torch in hand, Mary took a few steps away from them and walked straight through the wall of one of the ruins.

Matt’s eyes followed her, his expression one of astonishment.

“Mary,” Parker called after her, “Try not to scare any hikers or whatever. We really don’t want to have to get Miranda on the memory wipes.”

Matt stepped away from Kennedy and followed Mary numbly, although he walked around the walls. “Eleanor!” he called, once she was in sight.

“Her name’s Mary!” Kennedy shouted after him.

Matt jogged slightly to catch up with Mary and then they walked slowly together, their outlines faintly illuminated by Mary’s torch, their voices drifting back on cold breeze. Kennedy stared after them.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” she asked Parker.

“Don’t know,” Parker shrugged, “Ghost stuff, I expect. Why? Are you jealous?”

Kennedy shook her head, “No.”

They stood in silence for a minute and then Parker sat down on part of the ruins and looked pointedly around them, “Not a lot of water here.”

“No.”

“Or in the Pickman picture I assume?”

“No.”

“You lied to us, Kennedy Fisher.”

Kennedy didn’t respond.

“You didn’t escape from Charlotte at Aldridge Kemp’s house, did you? You made a deal with her and then lied to us.”

“I don’t regret it,” Kennedy said firmly, eyes still on Matt and Mary.

“This is why I don’t trust anyone,” sighed Parker, “I trusted you and you betrayed us.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Kennedy. “You’ve never trusted me, Parker, you just didn’t think I was capable of fooling you.”

“Maybe,” conceded Parker. “Did you always know it was going to be here?”

“Yeah. Since the night I first saw the picture at Aldridge’s. I told you the dog made me think of Black Shuck, so I looked it up and found a story about the bones they dug up here. And the ruins of the Abbey matched the picture perfectly. I was going to tell you, but then Charlotte said going ahead with the ritual was the only chance of getting Matt back. And I realised you’d always stop me – you’d have killed me rather than let me try it.”

“Do…”

“Don’t deny it, I know you would have.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it. If I’d had to kill you, of course I would have.”

Kennedy glanced at her for the first time. “I know.”

“Do you actually have the Pickman picture?”

“No, but I do have a copy of it. I couldn’t show you or you might have recognised it. I had to it and try and make the numbers fit somewhere else to send you instead.”

“When the numbers were actually dates,” said Parker, “23rd April 1921, when Pickman took the photograph, and January 2021 when the portal would return here at the time of the meteor shower.”

Kennedy nodded, her eyes still on the other two.

“You were lucky you picked somewhere with a folk history for your lie,” Parker told her.

Kennedy snorted, “Do you honestly think I could have picked anywhere that Mary wouldn’t have had a folk story for?”

“Fair point.” Parker paused, “By the way, what did you do with John Silence?”

“You’ll find him locked in the cellar of the safe house,” Kennedy replied, “This time **_I_** fooled **_him_**.”

“You must be pleased.”

“Pleased?” Kennedy finally took her eyes from Matt and glared at Parker, “Matt’s… dead, and you think I could be pleased, about anything?”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Really?” snapped Kennedy.

“He might be dead, but he’s not gone. He’s right over there.”

“And that makes it okay?”

“You'll get used to hanging around with a ghost, trust me. I’ve worked with Mary for years and its mostly fine. I mean, it’s a little frustrating when she upstages me by walking through walls, and frankly I could do without the lectures – but I think they may be more Mary-specific than ghost-specific. Or possibly they’re a thing for centuries-old ghosts, after all that time floating around. Either way, you won’t need to worry about it. You’ll be long gone before Matt reaches that stage.”

“I’ll be gone pretty soon if your boss has his way.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Parker told her airily, “Not for a while anyway. You’ll have dropped off the top of his list after this. Maybe just try to keep your head down for a while.”

“You really think I won’t be top of his list after what I did tonight?”

“Oh, we won’t put your lies in our report.”

“Really?” asked Kennedy disbelieving, “Why?”

“Well, it would be a bit embarrassing to have to say you deceived us. We’ll just fudge it a bit.”

“Right,” Kennedy paused, “Do you do that a lot?”

“Fairly frequently,” Parker shrugged, “If we told Johnson everything, we’d never get anything done. We’ll just tell him Obed Marsh is gone for now. He’ll be pleased with that and you’ll be off the top of the hit list.”

“Right... Are you about to tell me I have a good chance of a long life and a natural death?”

“You could have,” Parker said thoughtfully, “If you kept quiet and stayed out of trouble. So, honestly, no – because that’s not you, is it, Kennedy Fisher?”

“Maybe it will be now.”

“No,” Parker said dismissively, “You couldn’t keep out of trouble if you tried.”


	35. Chapter 35

“Mary,” Matt said as he reached her.

“You okay?” she asked.

He shook his head, “Not really. It’s a bit too much, it’s... confusing. My head feels like…” his voice trailed off.

“Do you remember the dreamlands?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think so… everything’s so confused, Eleanor – I mean Mary. I remember Pleasant Green – Marsh and Daisy and Ste– Jasper and then… it’s all unclear, like there’s something, some memory there but I can’t quite focus on it. And now I’m here and like this and I,” he took a deep breath, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Will I?” he asked doubtfully.

She nodded, “Trust me.”

“Who are you really?”

“Bit of a long story that, but basically, my name is Mary Lairre. I was a nun, and I was murdered, over 400 years ago. After that I was a ghost – for a **_long_** time. Now I’m mostly corporeal again, due to a complicated set of magical wards. However, since I just transferred those wards to you, I’m a ghost again until I can get back to the Department and get some new wards set up.” Mary paused, “And do you know the scariest thing about all of that?”

“What?”

“Since I’m a ghost for now… I’m going to have to let Parker drive us back.”

Matt gave a weak smile. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.” Mary looked away from him and took a deep breath, “Listen, Matt, you should know – when I was Eleanor Peck, there was a spell reinforcing my cover identity and I got lost in it. I genuinely did think I was Eleanor… I didn’t know I was lying to you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They walked on together in silence.

“What do I do now?” Matt asked finally.

“Whatever you like,” Mary told him gently. “Live your life. Just be aware that you won’t really age. Oh – and stay away from medical professionals, they’ll find you really confusing and a bit freaky.”

“Right,” Matt sounded uncertain.

“Look, Matt,” Mary said turning to him, “My advice? Forget about the ghost thing, and just concentrate on being a person.” She smiled, “In my experience, you’re actually really good at that.”

Matt gave her a small smile in return.

“You should get back to Kennedy,” Mary said, “You know, she risked her own life, and the destruction of the entire world just for the slightest chance of getting you back.”

Matt looked back towards Kennedy and Parker, seemingly deep in conversation, and then turned back to Mary. “This is all so… Could I – could I call you sometimes?” he asked.

“Definitely,” Mary smiled at him, “Us ghosts have to stick together.”

“Thank you.” Matt reached out to touch Mary’s arm but his hand went through it.

“I need those new wards,” she grinned. “Tell Parker I’ll meet her at the car.”

* * *

Matt let her walk away and then turned back towards Kennedy and Parker.

“You with us now, Mr Heawood?” asked Parker.

Matt nodded slowly, “I think so, just about. Mary explained some things. And she said to tell you she’ll wait for you by the car.”

“Right.” Parker didn’t seem in any hurry to move, surveying the landscape around her with an uninterested gaze.

Matt and Kennedy just looked at each other for a minute.

“Thank you,” Matt said softly.

“I’m sorry,” said Kennedy at the same time.

Matt shook his head, “It’s okay,” he said. Then he hesitated and added uncertainly, “It will be okay, won’t it?”

Kennedy gave him her most reassuring smile, “Of course, it will.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well,” said Kennedy, putting an arm around him and starting to walk him towards the car park, “First, let’s get you home.”

“And then?”

“Don’t know.” Kennedy glanced back at Parker, still sitting on part of the ruined abbey. “Any ideas, Parker?”

Parker looked up at them, “Sorry?”

“Any ideas what we should do now?”

“I don’t know,” Parker replied, vague and uninterested, “Whatever you want really. Have you considered podcasting?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end... finally.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for the comments along the way!


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